Of Shadows and Silence
by Monoclomatic
Summary: "Jem is my great sin" Jem is the only person Will has ever allowed himself to love and be loved by in return, and it's tearing them both apart. Will/Jem slash, but never untasteful
1. Death Be Not Proud

**...Oh hi! I didn't see you come in.**

**This fic takes place before Clockwork Angel (pre Tessa), but will continue to her arrival if the work is extended past one chapter.**

**Yes, it is a Jem/Will love story, I'm not ashamed. I know it's not a popular pairing, but I just always imagined that giving yourself to only one person in the whole world would inevitably run deeper than a friendship (though they still have that too), and just the thought of these two together is so heart breakingly awesome I couldn't keep away.**

**I apologise in advance if Jem seems a bit OOC, I tried to adapt him to the situation I've thought up, and it just came out this way. I always thought that Will has an indifferent mask that he puts on, and couldn't shake the feeling that Jem might have one too, of calmness and altruism, and I thought that this unaffected wall would come down around Will, as Will's does for him. I also know for a fact that people get narky when they're in pain, no matter how nice they are ;)**

**DISCLAIMER: The shadowhunter world and it's inahibtants are owned by Cassandra Clare, I claim nothing.**

_It was always the quiet that gave him away._

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It was that thick silence Will could sense lingering about Jem's chamber door that hit him as he walked by. The heady presence of something badly hidden never failed to send the hairs at the base of Will's neck tingling; it was as though the very runes that bound them shifted against his skin, alerting him to the fact that only the dead were so silent, or those who pretended to be. Will knew for a fact that Jem would not have wanted him to enter, and that fact gave him the reassurance that he needed in order to push the wooden door aside in search of him.

His first instinct to check the bed failed him, as the sheets atop them were cast aside in what must have been quite a hurry. Though its contents were none, Will felt his head spin as he noticed the fine spattering of blood across the furthermost pillow like a beacon; it guided Will around the eastern side of the bed until he was stilled by the motion of one shuddering shadow amongst the fallen pillows and clinging sheets. Will knew Jem was aware of his presence, but said not a word as the boy shivered into the side of the great bed like an oar caught up alongside its raft, beating against it again and again with the unrelenting current. Horrible, rasping sounds were escaping from his mouth, and as Will's vision adjusted to the change in lighting he began to see the scarlet nature of his hands as he pulled them from his face. These confirmed his fears, and immediately the learned practice of the situation seeped into his muscles, propelling him forward. Jem did not turn his head as he heard Will approaching, but shrank into himself further, perhaps in the hope that for once, Will might take hint of his warning and leave the room. Will did not however, and though he tried in vain, Jem was far too tired to repel Will's hands on him in assistance.

"How bad James? One to ten?" Will asked him quietly, lifting his reluctant face in order to gauge the size of his pupils.

"I do not need – let me be," Jem replied breathlessly, refusing to look into Will's eyes. As he said it, a small amount of hot blood trickled down his chin. Will shuddered at the striking contrast between the slick gleam of the red blood against the soft, muted nature of his pale skin. The blood had long since stained his teeth and lips, and was smeared about his face from his attempts to stifle the flow with his palms; these were slippery with the stuff as well, but Will could not bring the strength in himself to look from Jem's shamed eyes to them in inspection.

"Am I to let you alone to create your own red sea? I do think you're meant to part the thing, not part _from_ it." Will muttered absentmindedly, noting the way that his breath seemed to catch in his lungs, as though they could nary hold enough air for him.

"I – asked you, William, leave me." Jem huffed, his fingers creeping up to his chest without his permission. His eyes snapped closed very suddenly, and the next breath that came from him was laced and made ragged with whatever pain he was experiencing; Will felt as though he was sharing the same pain, his heart strained and faltered at the sight of his closest friend in such agony. Jem gasped he choked further on the blood that lingered in his throat, but refused to cough it up in Will's presence.

"For the love of God Jem, please, be not so proud and let me help; you are killing me with your vanity," the poem was running through his mind before he could hinder it, _death be not proud…_

"Vanity," Jem scoffed, wincing at the sharp pain such a reaction had caused him.

"One to ten?" Will asked again.

Jem hesitated, "Eight,"

Oh, Lord in Heaven, "When last did you take the drug?"

Jem's eyes grew unfocused as he tried to recall a memory that was beyond him in his delirious state, "I do not remember." His head fell forward alarmingly, and Will thanked his agility runes for the haste in which he caught it, balancing Jem against his shoulder like a brace.

"Steady yourself, James. You must stay awake until the yin fen is taken; after that you can sleep all you like," Will tapped his shoulders gently, terrified of hurting him but equally so of him slipping into unconsciousness, "keep your wits, stay here with me for only a little longer."

A drop of warm liquid fell onto Will's cold skin and pooled in the hollow of his collarbone as he felt Jem smile, "Give me better incentive," he whispered, barely audible.

Will did not, but rose from where he had previously been kneeling, and hauled Jem up with him until he was high enough to be deposited onto the bed. Will did this with as much care as was in him, but Jem still suffered for his actions and could not stifle the groans that rolled from somewhere deep in his chest.

"I'm sorry, it'll be over soon." Will promised him. Jem smiled up at him through tangled lashes, pale as snow in the cast of the moon; the blood on his lips made the expression rather disturbing, and the darkness of his eyes could have almost matched their natural hue. Altogether he looked almost like a fey, beautiful and delicate, but cold and demonic underneath it.

"Always so very serious Will," Jem grinned, his eyes clouded and his teeth scarlet, "is that going to change when I'm gone?"

Will felt the words hit him and the force of them took his breath as the sickly creature smiled up at him mercilessly. He knew that with his pain Jem grew cruel, and he was aware that Jem would most likely forget he had ever uttered something so hurtful, but Will knew he wouldn't. Jem's nearing mortality was not taboo in their relationship, but it was not something that Jem cared to use against him; unless it was for Will's own greater good in any given argument. Only when his senses and inhibitions were dulled in want of the drug did Jem ever utilise his death as weapon against Will, and Will could never avoid the idea that these outbursts could have been Jem's true feelings regarding his own end, and that the absence of the drug was the only catalyst in the expression of his true feelings.

He turned away from Jem's horrid smirk as he answered, and hid what he could of his hurt in his dismissive tone, "No, it will certainly not."

"That is a shame…" He heard Jem murmur as he prepared the Yin Fen for him at the dresser by his bed. Ready was a bowl of water at all times, which sat idle by the box of demon powder should Jem feel the need to administer it during the night. There were a myriad of ways in which to take the yin fen, Jem had tried every method and taken preference with only one of them. Jem did not like to smoke it, as he feared the tendrils of sweet mist would spread throughout the institute like September fog and poison the other residents. He especially did not like snorting the drug through his nose, as he felt it overwhelmingly undignified and complained of it leaving behind it the feeling of flames licking about his sinuses and throat. On rare occasion, Will had seen him simply take the powder between his thumb and forefinger, and suck it from them as one might sugar after finishing something sweet. This he did before battle or hunting, as the drug seemed to find him faster than any other method, though it left the hint of burnt sugar on his breath and made the inside of his mouth decidedly numb with its potency. Though this method was simplest, and the results almost instantaneous, the drug waned with more haste than what it was worth. The way in which Jem preferred to take the yin fen milked it for all it could give him, and was perhaps the most pleasant means of taking the stuff. Careful not to overestimate the amount that Jem would need, Will sprinkled a helping of the silver substance into the water basin waiting for it. Will deposited three pinches of the stuff, in worry that Jem had been lying there for a long while, trying to keep quiet. The longer Jem abstained from meeting his chemical need, the more of the yin fen he would require to bate the pain in turn, as the process of sobriety was a slippery slope of deterioration until the addict succumbed to a painful death. Without stirring it, Will waited as the yin fen sank below the surface of the water, and began to take the appearance of a silvery mist, which clouded at the bottom of the bowl and continued to fizzle. Will knew not to stir the drug into the water, as it upset the dissolving ritual and forced it to clump, and these from Jem's description tasted so foul, they had been offensive to his tongue.

As he waited for the solution to finish dissolving, he heard Jem utter the words _suoyou diyu_, which accompanied a sudden spasm of pain that sent him reeling to his side in answer to it. Will understood Chinese to little standard, but recognised the word for Hell in his exhalation, and it gave him the indication that waiting for the yin fen to dissolve would not do tonight. With tentative fingers, Will took unto his fingers a fair helping of the demon powder, and carried it carefully over to where Jem was curled in on himself at the corner of the bed. Will had experienced the burn of yin fen on his skin many times before, but the feeling never ceased to disturb him. It was a warm, almost pleasant burn that left his skin tingling and slightly numb after he had ridden himself of it, and in its place it always left a reddened mark that would not let for days. Jem had a series of small permanent scars on the inside of his forefinger and thumb from holding the stuff too often, and Will noticed on particularly cold mornings that the old marks would stand out against his own hands where before they had been healed. Will felt the yin fen sizzling into his fingers as he beckoned Jem's face from his arm and pleaded with him to cooperate. Jem was slipping now, Will could tell by the blind and half-hearted submission with which Jem uncoiled himself at Will's order. He simply closed his eyes in what appeared to be bone weariness, and leant his cheek hard into the palm Will had placed against it.

"Here, the drink is coming, but this will tide you over till it does." Will grazed his fingers over Jem's lips in offering, and at the smell of it Jem found enough life in him to take Will's fingers into his mouth and suck them gratefully, the lines about his furrowed brow lifting at the introduction of the drug to his body. When he was done Will's fingers came away stained with Jem's blood, but his concern for it was waning now that the stubborn bastard had finally accepted the means to which it would be slowed. Will tried to pull away but Jem held him near, making small exclamations of relief as the yin fen soothed whatever fire was burning inside him. It would not be enough, Will knew, to restore his mind and body to its normal state, so he forced himself from Jem's grip and retrieved the finished solution of water and demon powder; the basin was the colour and consistency of storm clouds now, its contents swirling peacefully despite their destructive nature.

Will made Jem sit up to take the drug, but only a little as he knew the pain would not yet have dissipated completely within him. He lifted the bowl carefully to his lips much as he had done with his fingers, and this time Jem hesitated before he drank it. The solution did not have the same sharp smell of the raw powder, but rather it's diluted scent was something muted and thickly sweet. As the drug he had taken raw was restoring him to a minor lucidity, Jem's stubborn disposition was returning and he refused the drink given before him.

"No, I don't want it," he whispered, too weak to move away so he closed his eyes in protest of its presence before him. Jem's disposition at this time was always deceptively regular, and Will had made the miscalculation before of mistaking it for his recovery. In the process of his recovery, Jem went through a delicate stage of calm, in which he acted with a reasonable mindset and would say things that one might expect Jem to say; Will knew however that more of the drug was essential at this point, lest Jem fall back into the fits of pain that had previously trapped him, and kept in mind that the things he said now would be as scarcely remembered as the ones he had uttered in agony.

"Please James, drink for me?" Will pleaded, using a soft voice that one might use in fear of frightening a wild animal. Jem shook his head almost imperceptivity, and did not open his eyes. Will thought for a moment, keeping his hands steady on the basin, "If you will not drink the yin fen, than I will not waste it." Will lifted the bowl away from Jem's face, whose eyes flew open in shock of what Will was doing. Will pulled the bowl to his lips and took a small amount to drink from it, not enough to make him high but enough to cause his lips to tingle. Jem, however, was in no state to make such calculations.

"Will! Stop it, how can you be so stupid?" He hissed, trying to swipe the bowl from Will's hands. Will was very much faster at this point in time however, and moved the thing out of his reach.

"If you are not going to drink it, then I see no point in wasting it, do you know how much this stuff costs by the pound? You would not be pleased." Will said, lifting the bowl again to his lips and taking the smallest sip from it. Jem looked as though his action physically hurt him, and strained his fingers forward in a desperate attempt to still his action.

"This is cruelty William, you know how dangerous it is to -" Jem broke off, the words catching in his throat and converting to a whimper of agony as he clutched his left side. Will almost dropped the basin in response, and it took every ounce of his will to keep his grip on the thing.

"Do you know what really is cruel James? The fact that you would torture yourself this way and in turn directly torture me, what care you for my own safety Jem, when you disregard yours as though it means nothing to you?" Will said scathingly, his voice wavering.

"Nothing means anything to me anymore," Jem muttered, his brows pulling together with more than physical pain. It burned more than the yin fen had on his skin, but Will could not let the words sink in and taint him, for that was what this Jem wanted, the one who pained and hated and wanted his own life to end before he would miss it.

"What about me? Do I mean nothing to you anymore Jem?" Will asked, all the more disheartened by the hurt that carried on the phrase regardless of his effort to restrain it. Jem's gaze locked onto his, and in the moonlight Will could see the scarcest sliver of lightness returning to his eyes. His pale hair was curled by sweat and clung about his temples and neck almost like a caress. His face was so pale Will thought him a statue as he sat still like one, and the blood on his mouth was almost blue in his present light. He was so lovely, even as he was now in the deprivation of yin fen, but there was a horrible truth in his expression that spoiled the tranquillity of his beautiful face, a reluctant knowledge that was so sad and accepted that Will could no longer feel the bowl in his hands, let alone wonder whether or not he still held it.

"You mean everything to me that you shouldn't," Jem said, his voice low and quiet, "and it is killing us both, rotting us from the inside out until we _are_ nothing." Will felt as though his very heart was rotting as Jem held his gaze steadily, awaiting perhaps rebuttal or anger. Though it slid onto him as knives might, Will pulled upon his face the protective mask he knew better than his face without it, that emotionless one that he had used so often but had never liked to use on Jem, and felt himself drifting from the situation as the Thames pulled away from the city. His anger quelled, and the pain was diluted, but what remained was hollow and listless. All he had was the skin of his bones, and the sick boy's eyes on him as he held the basin forward once more in offering.

"If you do not drink this, I will have it all myself, and then I will truly rot into nothing and you will only have yourself to blame." His tone was mild, unaffected. It came from him as music did from an instrument, intended and from a will greater than his own. Jem watched him indignantly, his eyes drifting from the basin to his face and back again, until this nose wrinkled and his eyes narrowing in unhappy defeat.

"You are a bastard Herondale, you know that?" He spat, which gave Will the permission he needed in order to lift the bowl to Jem's lips and have him drink it cooperatively.

"From the inside out," Will whispered, stemming the flow of the liquid so as not to choke his partner, whilst simultaneously resisting the dark urge to do so.

Will had found that whilst the worst time came for Jem during his abstinence from the drug, the hardest time for Will expanded from the point at which Jem took the yin fen, to the moment that it reached him, for it was truly the time where he could do nothing. All he was permitted by the situation to do was wait and count the beats of his heart, watching his partner gasp beside him and pray to God that another would follow it. Jem never seemed all too aware of this at the time, his eyes fastened shut and temples glistening with exertion. Trying with all his might to ignore the suffocating nature of his own uselessness, Will would hold Jem's hand, as he could gauge the amount of pain Jem was in by the strength with which he gripped it. The only thing that could sate Jem's pain was the demon powder, and until it had made its full journey all Jem had was the solid presence of Will in his palm and the empty whispers of soon, and hush, and apology; of these comforts Jem heard none, but writhed for the loss of Will's voice, which seemed to prove the only solace in his delirious state.

Will had long since cleaned the blood from Jem's face and from his hair with the pillowcase that had already his blood upon it. This he had soaked in water and then discarded in the linen room alongside Jem's sheets for Sophie to find in the morning. Jem's episodes, excluding those that truly were horrendous, were kept secret from Charlotte and the rest of the institute, but such damning evidence was impossible to keep from the maid. Will had initially withheld the sheets and ruined clothes after Jem's attacks, and would wander amongst the streets in search of a dank alley to burn them; Jem had been the more reasonable of the two, and acknowledged that sheets could not forever be missing, and consented reluctantly that Sophie must be made aware of the instances. Will remembered the first time he had brought the sheets down to the linen room, and had been caught by Sophie as she had been finishing one of Jessamine's more pernickety gowns. She had been very still at first, shocked beyond reaction at the state of the bloodied linen, and the great stain of it across the front of Will's waistcoat, which Jem had coughed on whilst Will had been lifting him. Immediately after she had sprang to her feet with more agility than Will knew she had in her, dropping the brush in her hands as though she'd forgotten it'd ever existed.

"Master Jem-" She had begun breathlessly, but Will had interrupted her with the coldest disdain that he reserved for only the most tenuous of situations.

"Has just had a very dramatic nosebleed, could you see to it that his sheets are made spotless once more? He apologises for the lateness of the request and does assure me that next time he will control his nasal appendages more politely."

"He's been coughing? Your coat!" She gestured to it as though making him aware that there was a three headed snake curled about his chest.

"He sneezed, but there's no need to wash this, I'm not much taken to the colour anyway," Will said stiffly, casting the sheets onto the stone of the floor and turning to make his leave. Sophie was not deterred however, and rushed to make pace with him as though she had intended to accompany him back to Jem's room.

"The master is ill, we must wake Charlotte and call upon the Silent Brothers to-" Will had cut her off at that point by taking a tight hold of her arm, swinging her around so they were very close together and so that Will could glare down into her eyes in a way that was most threatening. Jem, though he kept his composure in their presence, feared the Silent Brothers almost as much as Will did. Jem hated to display such feelings as he knew the Brothers to have once been shadow hunters like him, but the brutality of their role in his childhood had scarred him in a way that he could never deny. After having seen Jem in one of the worst states in weeks just previously, Will had known his nature to have become temporarily overprotective, and at Sophie's mention of allowing a dark part of Jem's childhood to come now and upset him further had struck him as possibly the most insolent thing he had ever heard. He had held the maid then with a steadfast hatred that he knew to be unnecessary, but had found himself unable to contain his emotions.

"You will not do anything but what has been asked of you Sophie," Will hissed, making the girl flinch, "you will clean these sheets until they are spotless and then you will replace them in Jem's room without mention of any of this to anyone, do you hear?"

"But if he is ill, Charlotte must know, he cannot go on without medical attention," Sophie whispered, her tempered accent breaking through her speech out of fear and shock. Will gave her a small shake,

"Are you deaf? Do as I say, Jem does not want to be seen, but merely to be respected for his wishes." Sophie's face had twisted into anger then, and she had yanked herself from Will's grip as though his touch were sin.

"How can you be so cruel? Your Parabatai is ill and you will not send for help-"

"If cruel is what Jem asks me to be, then cruel I will be, and if you have any love for him left you will do as he asks alongside me," Will had snapped, his patience tried. The girl had frozen at that, her face paling with the realisation that Will knew of her affections towards Jem. Why wouldn't she care for Jem? He showed her endless kindness, as was his freedom. Will knew Sophie hated him because he had taken every measure to assure that he did, lest she fall to the same fate that his sister had. She shifted uncomfortably before him now, unsure of herself.

"If Master Jem does not seek a cure for his illness, he-" she broke off, unable to continue. Will continued for her, relishing the way the words seemed to cut him so deeply that he could almost feel trails of hot blood sinking down his throat, "he will die, and it will be his choice. Will you take even that from him?"

Sophie looked up at him listlessly, tears shining in her eyes, "You sound as though you do not even care." She said it with a contempt that seemed different from its usual poison, something about it then had been tainted, almost harmless.

"Jem is the only thing that I care about, never forget it," Will had answered with enough venom to make up for that which was lacking in hers, "and if you care any for him, you will do as he has asked."

Something had passed through her eyes then, a kind of emotion that still rang of hate but had the itching of something piteous, a soft emotion that made the hair stand straight at the back of Will's neck in fear. Before he could contemplate it further however she had inclined her head in consent, and without hesitation Will had turned and left her in the dark room to wash the blood from Jem's sheets.

The next day Jem had asked Will what he had done to the poor girl, who he had found so upset that she could not bear to be in Jem's presence, no matter how many times he had approached her. His question had been laced with hurt and worry, so Will told Jem that he had offered her the payment of his own body in exchange for the extra work of washing the sheets.

"I think she rather realised the terrible disproportion of the trade, in my mind." Will had pondered meaningfully, leaning back against the secluded alcove of the library in which he and Jem had been reading on assignment from Charlotte, to which Jem replied quietly and without emotion, "Most likely, they really are fine sheets."

Will remembered the way he had leant forward laughing and kissed him happily, and had loved the way that Jem's lips had still been curled upwards in silent amusement. Now his lips were strained in a pain that Will could not take from him nor share. Most hauntingly was the silent practice that was constant between both scenarios, the fact that whenever in pain, or in happiness, Jem endured in silence. In pleasure or in agony Jem fell quiet, so frequently he did it that Will never really knew if Jem was joyful or falling apart inside, only that it was one of the two.

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Both of them equally caused by him.

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_It was always the quiet that gave him away._

**Not sure if I should continue this beyond one chapter; if you would like this fic to continue please let me know by reviewing, and if my writing offends you please oh please still review and tell me, because I just want to make you happy, but you have to meet me halfway man.**

**If you were wondering, Jem's Chinese exclamation is just in simplified Chinese, as it was the fastest thing to have translated. The phrase means roughly to possess Hell, as his pain felt like the abyss was eating him from the inside out. Also the poem Will was thinking of was 'Death be not Proud' by John Donne.**

**I have an idea of where this story might be heading, but depending on response and my own workload, time will tell.**

**Thank-you a thousand bear hugs for reading, and I apologise endlessly for any typos (one day I will defeat them, but that day is not today)**

**Chloe :) **


	2. A Little Boy Lost

** Well, hello again.**

**Since I have recieved such b-e-a-utiful comments regarding this fic (you guys are the sweetest) both from those on this site and off it, I decided I'd churn out another chapter and see if you guys still like it. This one's a bit scatty, and I apologise, this chapter came out nothing like I had intended it to. **

**Naughty chapter.**

**Aside from that, it's mostly about one of Will's more painful memories, and the visuals can be a little icky so if you're overly squeamish you might want to proceed with caution, but I'm a fainter and I managed so I think you'll be okay.**

**There's a bit of Welsh in this one somewhere, but I find immediate translations plonked in the middle of a passage jarring, so if you zip down to the bottom of the page, I've left you a nifty little key there that explains what they're on about (and if you speak Welsh, you're awesome and do not need keys in your life, your world is an open door my friend)**

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, Cassandra Clare is our glorious queen and we worship her and that wierd ability she has to make us fall in love with as many men as she so pleases, and we ain't even mad ;)**

**Chapter 2**

_There was morning hinting through the window as Jem's breath began to quieten, and the tightness with which he held Will's fingers lessened gradually._

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Will could see visibly the composure returning to his partner as Jem's entire body relaxed in welcome of the drug, the line of his shoulders releasing the tension they had previously held and relenting to the comfort of the sheets beneath them. The frown that had been imprinted on his face during his recovery remained however, as Jem seemed join the link between the warmth of the fingers in his and the presence of Will in the room.

"Will," he said, his tone caught somewhere between inquiry and statement; Will's company was something Jem had long since come to expect, but the exhalation was question of why Jem had only Will's hand as evidence of this. Will understood the message and immediately closed the distance that separated them and, careful not to upset the balance of the mattress and cause Jem further pain, eased into the bed and into Jem, so they lay curled around one another; one boy on the cusp of sleep and the other so very far away from it. Jem rested his forehead against Will's , and it's temperature was such that Will pulled back a little from the shocking contrast of it, yet Jem was shaking as though he were subject directly to the early morning chill that was presently pressing at the window in ask of entry.

"Are you very cold?" Will asked, knowing already the answer but wanting to hear Jem speak in order to confirm his rationality.

"Yes, I am very cold; why else would I invite you into my bed?" He said, pressing closer. The strength with which he delivered the answer was akin to the dying, and it seemed as though he had not the energy within him left even to open his eyes.

"And I suppose you were cold at each of the other visits that I made to your bed, naturally?" Will teased, relief spilling across his chest at the sight of Jem's responding smile.

"Woefully so. What, did you think I wanted your company?" Jem taunted, though his voice was so soft that it could not support the weight of any sarcasm. Will laughed quietly, giddy with the return of Jem's calm and the steady pace of his heart against his searching palm.

"I seldom remember what I assumed, the ways in which you let me warm you were more than distracting enough that I cared not, though company is a lovely afterthought, or forethought?" Will pondered absentmindedly, as Jem's smile grew to something genuinely contented. Jem leant his face ever closer and pressed his mouth to Will's languidly, both with lips still curved in amusement. Will sank into the kiss as though it were granting him a promise, and added a further pressure that was wanting yet careful, as he feared that Jem may not yet be well enough to receive it. But Jem received it, and as he did so his hand moved automatically up Will's chest to rest just below his left collarbone, over his heart. Just as Will was revelling in the way their breath was sweet when it intermingled between them, Jem stilled his lips in realisation, and the hand upon his front became tangled amongst the fabric of his shirt in reaction Will felt Jem frown once again, and would have pulled away had Will not held him near.

"You drank my yin fen," Jem said, not angrily, but his voice was flat with unhappy understanding. He spoke with his lips still close to Will's, and the warmth of the breath that teased them made Will almost mad with the desire to kiss him again, but knew that the moment had passed, as it always did, before he was finished with it.

"What makes you think that?" Will challenged him, but only for habits sake, as the evidence of yin fen was as unmistakable as it was unique, even when it still lingered against one's own tongue.

"I can taste it on you, are you some form of insane?" Jem accused him, though still there was no anger in what remained of his voice, only disappointment and what spiked of an exhaustion that was not purely physical.

"I might be, after the trouble I went through in order to get any of it. Did you know that you have a problem with sharing James?"

Jem opened his eyes now, with what was obviously a valiant effort, and watched Will with a steady expression of tired disapproval. Will met it with the determination of showing Jem that they were equally at fault in this situation, but could not bring any fire to the act, not when Jem was so weak and so helpless in his arms. Though they were still dark in need of sleep, Jem's eyes had restored themselves to their usual argentous pallor. They turned even now in that ever maddening molten way that drew Will into them as though in dreaming, and made him all too easily desirous of being carried along it's warm current until he left all things that were not Jem behind him. Jem's skin, usually so mild, was stained with fever. The colour clouded about the heights of his cheekbones, and rested in the space between their foreheads, making Will clammy with its strength.

"How could you Will? After last time," Jem said with no restraint of the betrayal in his voice.

Will, before that night, had only ever taken yin fen once in his life. Will had seen and known the way that the drug worked on Jem, both when he had it in his system and when he didn't. Jem's long term addiction to the stuff had waned the drugs effect on him, to the point where, unless taken in copious quantities, offered him only the basest feelings of respite and normality. Without it he had agony, a pitiless abyss from which the two only escapes where chemical enslavement or death. Will had not, however, seen its effect on novice users, and had wrongly assumed that the symptoms he had witnessed were universal to all those who dabbled in it.

The day Will had tried it he had been just on the fringe of sixteen years, and had not dreamt of home in any great detail in a long time. Almost always his dreams would be haunted with fleeting flashes of brilliant green hillsides and mournful reminders of his family, such as the curl of his mother's long hair, the incomprehensible safety of his father's shadow, or the familiar dirtied accusation of Ella's skirt trimmings that gave evidence to the fact that she had once again been wandering about the glen when she was not supposed to. Such things came and went painfully, but the knives upon which they were carried began to blunt as time passed, the clarity of them deteriorating as though they were drifting under water, and Will could no longer see them as well as he had used to. For a thankful time, Will had thought the worst of his memories to have left him, but was proven wrong on a surprisingly warm June afternoon. He had been reading the works of Blake whilst curling contentedly into a secluded library alcove, in which he had let his entire being ease. It was his time alone there with the books that sustained him and where Will found the closest thing he could to tranquillity. With Jem there was freedom, but always guilt that he could not explain to his lover, so was forced to repress it in his company. With books there was no one to deceive, no need for walls to conceal him, and it gave him a small solace without which he guessed he would have lost his mind. In books Will found a medium through which his emotions could be channelled, and found a way to allow them to feel for him, to love for him and want for him in a way that he never could. Without something to receive his emotions, Will felt himself as hollow as an empty cabinet, but with books there was feeling without restraint and devotion without the caution of what would come of it. Such a comfort was short lived, so when the sun sinking in through the window had warmed him to sleep, it had not been something he had wanted.

The dream had begun as a memory, something that had not occurred in some time. Will had been running alongside a small hill that he remembered as the one that flanked the far side of their estate in Wales, which he had conquered at the age of five and in triumph had declared it _'gaer William y mawr'_. This had amused his sister, Ella, a as she would mutter aloud about the poor taste in putting one's name on such a small hill, and oftentimes affectionately referred to it as _'ychydig William bryn'_. In his dream had been chasing her, around and around the hill as his parents watched from the estate. A rug was thrown over the long grass and upon it his father and mother sat, simultaneously watching their eldest children play and keeping their youngest from trying to join them. Cecily was no more than four, and every hair atop her pretty head was as Will remembered it. She was grinning with all of ten teeth while she watched her brother run, longing to do the same but too young to keep up. As the sight of Ella's dress grew closer in its flight, Will realised that he was not a stocky child but had his then present body of fifteen, with long slim legs that were longer than Ella's. He had caught up to her quickly, and noticed for the first time how small she really was. She had always seemed so big to him, someone who could not be moved by lightning or landslide. There she had been tiny, a slim catch of the light as she streaked away from him, her laugher ringing in the warm air like bird song. Will had closed his arms around her, and the anticipation of touching her for the first time in three years had seared his nerves to ash; for how could she be real? This beautiful laughing girl who had taught him to lace his boots and swim in the pond on the east edge of the Herondale grounds? Surely she was a piece of Heaven, set upon the Earth to torment him; he knew he would chase her into oblivion should she be, regardless of the fate that awaited him.

His arms had landed around her solidly as he laughed in victory, and she uttered a piercing squeal of surprise at her capture that made him flinch with its pitch. But her yell had soon become not of joy, but of pain, growing with intensity until she had been screaming, writhing in a desperate effort to get away from him. Will had not let her go at first, confused by the reaction, until he had smelt the unmistakably horrid stench of burning flesh. When he had looked down smoke had risen from the places where his skin touched hers, and set his eyes stinging. He wrenched and pulled with all his might to let Ella go but it had been as though his arms were sunken into her body and he could not move them. Ella shrieked and struggled as her flesh melted from her bones and in the near distance Will could hear his parents howling, Cecily crying. The smoke had risen and spread until it was all Will could see and he had been forced to shut his eyes as his sister twisted out of her skin into bones. These perished to, but all at once as though they had been hollow to start with, and as the smoke finally cleared Will had seen a smouldering layer of ashes gathered about his feet. When he had been able to see his family by the house, they had recoiled behind his father, who had glared at him in fear and disgust. Through tears and tremors Will had stumbled toward him, his arms held before him in fear of their poison. His father had backed away appallingly, his hand lifted before his eyes as though the very sight of Will scalded his vision. He had been hissing, the same word again and again, blocking his mother and sister from his sight.

_'Diafol!'_

_'Diafol!'_

Devil.

Devil.

Then, as though from afar, the poem Will had been reading before his sleep began to sound, but only he seemed to be able to hear it.

.

.

.

_``And Father, how can I love you_

_Or any of my brothers more?_

_I love you like the little bird_

_That picks up crumbs around the door.''_

_._

_._

_._

His father's eyes had been filled with such a hate, such a loathing that Will had not been able to stand against it, and his knees had sunken into the dewed grass all too slowly before his family.

_._

_._

_._

_The Priest sat by and heard the child,_

_In trembling zeal he siez'd his hair:_

_He led him by his little coat,_

_And all admir'd the Priestly care._

_._

_._

_._

There were hands, on the lapels of his coat which had pulled him to his feet and dragged him before his parents, who flinched from him as though he were open flame.

_._

_._

_._

_And standing on the altar high,_

_``Lo! what a fiend is here!'' said he,_

_``One who sets reason up for judge_

_Of our most holy Mystery.''_

_._

_._

_._

These words had seemed to be heard by the rest of his family, whose fear turned quickly to rage, and their heads nodded in consent. Rage was in even Cecily's little face, he could see from the small part of it that was not buried against their mothers arm. Will had been crying, screaming for mercy, but no sound came from his lips.

_._

_._

_._

_The weeping child could not be heard,_

_The weeping parents wept in vain;_

_They strip'd him to his little shirt,_

_And bound him in an iron chain;_

_._

_._

_._

No longer had hands been holding him, but chains of such constraint that he had felt hot blood run from the shackles around his wrists and vein about his arms. His family were crying, wailing at the sight of such a monster at their doorstep, but refused to meet his eyes as he called for them in desperate want.

_._

_._

_._

_And burn'd him in a holy place,_

_Where many had been burn'd before:_

_The weeping parents wept in vain._

_Are such things done on Albion's shore?_

_._

_._

_._

From the very ground fire had risen, making the grass seem golden instead of green, but it had not been him that had been burning. The screams of his family as they perished sent him to insanity, but his neck would not relent and permit him look away as the flames licked at their skin, consuming it. Now Will had been able to scream, his voice joining with the howls of his mother, all mingling with his father's hauntingly. Worst of it all, above all other sounds that sliced at Will's heart, Cecily's wail pierced the air and shattered it.

The dream had come crashing to an end, and Will had bolted upright in the alcove as though lightning had struck him. Sweat had made his hair stick to the back of his neck and his heart had hammered so fast, his breath could not make pace with it. Blindly, with a need so desperate it defeated his sense of reason; Will had run from the library, the book of poems crashing to the floor forgotten behind him.

Jem had not been in his room when Will had arrived, panting so hard that his head rang. Will had been so panicked, still unsure of what was real and what was not, that when he had spotted the box of yin fen on Jem's nightstand, he had made a foolish decision. Will had known the destructive nature of the drug, known its danger, knew it even then in the haze of his own terror. However, Will had thought only then of the way the drug seemed to calm Jem when he was having an attack, helping him to recover his ease and sense of reason, both of which Will needed desperately to regain. Before he could be stopped, Will had surged forward and seized the box between his hands. He had opened it carefully and scooped an unmeasured amount into his palm and licked it off his skin until no more was left. The powder had stung his mouth and released a pooling feeling of numbness throughout his throat and tongue. Resisting the urge to spit it out, Will had swallowed quickly and shut the box again as carefully as he had opened it. Almost instantly his nerves had begun to dissolve, and the fear melted away from him with a wicked satisfaction. No sooner had Will began to enjoy the absence of his memories however than a new sensation had arisen in him like wildfire. Suddenly his hands were shaking again, not with terror but with energy, such a buzzing confidence that he felt as though he might float away with the lightness of it. His vision had begun to change, the colours he saw were too brilliant to be real, the whites of the walls blinding, and the reds of the drapery blazing. Will squinted against them but did not fear them as he should have, the drug making him feel as though there was too much energy in his body for him to remain still, as though his very cells were going to burst if he did not do something to release the energy from his being. At that time Jem had made his unfortunate entry to the room, and had found Will staring about himself with pupils larger than the blue of his eyes and body trembling as though currents were travelling through him from deep underground. Jem had frowned in confusion, saying Will's name as though he intended to ask him something further but had never been given the chance as Will strode forward and kissed him harder than he'd ever done in his life. The embrace had been such that it had forced Jem back against the far wall with a terrible slamming motion, and the back of Jem's head had collided with the stone with a cracking speed. Jem's moan could not have been interpreted in any situation as anything other than painful, but in Will's rage he cared not for Jem's safety, nor the destruction his passion would cause him. It had been as though the blood in Will's veins had boiled, and was searing through his body, burning him from the inside out. The energy in him was too much, and without another host to transfer it to, Will was sure that he would explode into a million shining pieces. He had forced Jem against the wall, pressing himself against his _parabatai_ so hard that the latter could not breath, and forced Jem's mouth open with his teeth so roughly that his lip split and Will tasted blood on his tongue. At first, Jem had been so winded from the impact that he had not resisted, but was soon sobered by the pain of Will biting him, and began to struggle against him. Will was the stronger of the two, but had been distracted in his act to the point that he did not anticipate Jem's knee slamming into his stomach as he had pulled away ever so slightly to kiss Jem's jaw. Will had staggered back, the air rushing out of his lungs at the impact Jem had made, and was forced to grab the edge of his bed for support.

"All Hell, Will, what are you doing? You hurt me," Jem had exclaimed breathlessly, clutching the back of his head. The colours were so bright Will felt he would go blind, and threw his hands over his eyes, hissing as he did so.

"Please Jem, I'm going to explode, it's all too bright." Will had fastened his eyes shut, but the colours had crept inside his eyelids and his eyes no longer had anything to protect them. The colours swirled and twisted into grotesque images of gnarled blue fingers and rotting flesh, green and black as it festered before him. The picture swelled into eyes, stormy like his, but so filled with hate for him that they began to bleed with it, pouring the burning stuff onto his own eyes and making him cry out. Instantly there had been hands on his face, Jem's soft voice calling him away from the image, but his skin sizzled where he had been touched and he jerked away from the sensation so violently that he lost his balance. He did not remember hitting the floor, but he remembered being lifted, and placed upon something softer, just as cool hands once more found his face, pushing the hair from it tenderly.

"How much of it did you take Will?" Jem had asked softly from somewhere very close by, his voice urgent and soft. Will could not have answered; Will had been drowning.

"It's not real Will, it's not real; it will pass," Jem had whispered to him again and again, until the images had faded to darkness once more, and the tingling in Will's body had finally fizzled out into exhaustion. Jem had held him for hours during and after, whispering truths of what was here and good and what was not. Will had buried his face into Jem's shoulder, listening but not really hearing as Jem's voice had carried him away from insanity, until he passed into sleep once more, free of any memories whatsoever.

There had been no anger then, just as there was no anger now, when Jem was watching him with exhausted expectation of reply. Will simply wanted to draw Jem into him as he had done a thousand times and bury his face in the juncture between his neck and shoulder where it fit so well it was as though it was made for no other function. But Will knew that this act was no less cowardly than his decision to take the yin fen that day two years ago, when his memories had come back to claim him once again. The sense of betrayal was resting under his skin, eating away at his composure just as the memories had- still did, to the present morning. He could not hold it there, as he held so many other things in his life, knowing all too well that they would be his demise one day too soon.

"How could _you_, James," Will whispered, refusing to look at him as his voice cracked, "how could you keep it from me? We keep nothing from one another and you _kept_ this from me." Will didn't expect Jem to understand the hurt that he felt regarding the situation, how could he? He had no concept of the fact that he was the only person in the entire world that Will bore himself to fully, could not fathom the effect that his own secrecy would have on Will should he choose to erect walls in their relationship. Was not Will doing the same by keeping his curse from Jem? He was doing it to protect him from sharing his burden, and was that not the same motive that Jem possessed when he hid away his illness in silence? Will's breath caught as the jarring contrast of his own guilt and hurt combing to make something thick in his throat, choking him. Jem's face dropped into something like sad understanding, and as always whatever preconception he had been withholding melted away in irrational worry for Will.

"I did not endure it as punishment to you Will, I would never-" Jem broke off, his eyes downcast in the guilt of his realisation. Will lifted his chin, so their eyes were met again, and Will kept his gaze steady with an intensity that he knew was too much for Jem in his condition, but could not help it.

"But it did punish me, everything that cuts you bleeds from me as painfully," Will said heatedly, though the anger was borne from desperation rather than from anger now, "you are half my soul and you kept your pain from me, as though I would not _feel_ it."

Will, with fingers unsteady in the emotion of his action, lifted the shirt from one of Jem's shoulders, and pressed his fingertips to the _parabatai_ rune that was revealed just below his collarbone, as evidence.

"How could you think that I would not feel it?" Will repeated, his voice trembling. Jem closed his eyes shamefully, his brows furrowing further together.

"Because I was not thinking of you this time Will," Jem whispered, his voice laced with guilt and the lines above his eyes entrenching themselves further for it.

"Then what were you thinking of? You know that no amount of waiting will make it disappear." Will persisted mercilessly, never removing his fingers from where they rested against the binding rune.

"That was not what I was waiting for, I am not a fool."

"Then why did you wait?" Will asked, his delivery faltering with the expectation of an answer that he knew would break his heart but needed Jem to give him. Will guessed Jem's answer before he said it, but something very raw inside him drove him to believe that the destruction of this wall between them would be worth the pain that Jem was protecting him from behind it. Jem hesitated for such a while that Will wondered momentarily whether he had succumbed to sleep, but then the answer came, so quiet and so listless that Will had to listen hard in order to catch it.

_._

_._

_._

_"I do not carry any false assumptions that my illness will disappear in waiting; but I thought that, perhaps, I could."_

**_Key:_**

**_'gaer William y mawr' - _Fort William, the Great**

**_'ychydig William bryn' - _Little/Just William Hill**

_**'diafol' - **_**Devil (obvious, but still)**

**If you were wondering, the poem referenced in Will's dream is "A Little Boy Lost" by William Blake, all that is missing is the first stanza, which I left out (does that make me stanza-ist?)**

**Regardless, please oh please review and let me know what's on your mind, I like to listen ever so much.**

**If you guys want a continuation, I promise this story is going somewhere, even though it's already rebelling against me.**

**Chloe :)**


	3. The Ash Grove

**Hi there! I'm forever sorry that this took so long, but have you looked at your scrolling bar at the right side of the screen?**

**That's why.**

**My exams finished today and this is sort of my other big achievement, so I hope you enjoy it, though you may have to set up camp halfway through and continue in the morning. This chapter is not part of the main plot, but a collection of important memories revolving around the development of Jem and Will's relationship. I just thought that a bit of background would give a little more to the story, but if you're allergic to BIG chapters, it's not really necessary for you to read this one, I'll understand if you don't (but you can't stop me from being sad, IM DOING IT!)**

**There's also an inclusion of a special someone that misbehaved by inserting himself into the story before he was supposed to, I think you'll know him when he turns up. There's no specific date for each event, but it spans the period from about 12 years old to 16 years, so whatever age they are in your head is cool. Also, all the Welsh is simply repetition of the poem at the beginning, so no tranlation needed.**

**Onward! and please let me know what you think:**

**DISCLAIMER: Casssandra Clare is the rightful blessed creator of the Infernal Devices universe, I simply wish that I could live in it, I claim nothing.**

_My lips smile no more, my heart loses its lightness;  
No dream of the future my spirit can cheer.  
I only can brood on the past and its brightness  
The dear ones I long for again gather here.  
From ev'ry dark nook they press forward to meet me;  
I lift up my eyes to the broad leafy dome,  
And others are there, looking downward to greet me  
The ash grove, the ash grove, again is my home._

_._

_._

_Mere weeks after abandoning his home, Will forgot all but those words._

.

.

.

How long had the song been?

Had not its first stanza read of life and sanctuary?

Regardless, these were the lines that remained with him. Will remembered the very lilt that accompanied each syllable as his mother had shaped them, on the countless nights that she had sung them to him in his bed, when sleep had lingered in that shaded place that only her voice could reach. In the months that followed his curse the words had sifted through his night hours and had _made_ sleep linger for weeks on end. The sound of them had changed from comfort to accusation, and it had seemed as though blocking his ears had made them ever louder. They haunted his resting places and lingered about the darkness as a poltergeist might, echoing about the stone walls until their speech was meaningless, save for the reminder that they granted him.

The institute is not his home.

Ella is dead because of him.

He will never see his family again.

He is poison.

.

.

_Fy ngwefusau a__gwenu__heb fod yn fwy__, mae fy __nghalon__yn colli ei__ysgafnder__,_

_._

The boy was so silent and still that Will had very nearly passed him by without realizing his presence. Will was so accustomed to the practiced routine of avoidance and circumnavigation in the institute that the instance of a meeting within the drawing room between Charlotte and a guest was one that Will not only recognized as nondescript, but utilized as an opportunity to slip past unnoticed or at the very least ignored. Charlotte had initially placed an effort into involving Will in institute matters, perhaps in a mind to aid Will in stitching himself amongst his new community more securely. This aspect had almost paralyzed Will with fear, and as a desperate means of escape he had made the personal pledge that if any member of the institute should try to reach him emotionally, he would act in a way that would not only deny that individual of their intention but scorn them in conjunction for having so much as conceived that he might be capable of any common decency. He had never wanted to become an object of hatred or exasperation, but had learnt rather quickly after arriving at the institute that the shadowhunters within had a penchant for emotional connection. Will had entered the institute under the impression that he would be able to whisper about the many halls of the church in solitude until he reached an age full enough to enter the world on his own, or merciful death found him in one of the many shrouded corners along his travels. Little had he anticipated the vigor with which Charlotte in particular would seek him out in his wanderings. Time and time again he would be found, and the sympathy that accompanied it had set the hair at the back of his neck standing with his own terror, as the image of his dead sister was still fresh in the back of his mind. Such careless feeling on their part was dangerous, and Will knew that without cruelty on his part, they would never cease tempting their own fate by caring for him. So Will remained recluse amongst the halls and chambers, but now as a rule he was not spoken to or acknowledged unless it was absolutely necessary, lest the acknowledger was prepared to be berated with every halfhearted misgiving Will could conjure from his unwilling imagination. Charlotte had been the last of the nephillim to give up on him, as she had been determined that behind the irritable ghoulish exterior there was a lost boy in need of persistent care. Will feared her most of all who dwelt in the institute, as she had been the one to persist the longest, and it was thus his painful obligation to treat her with the most potent disrespect, for without it he speculated that feelings of misdirected tenderness may grow from the ruin of her scorched expectations. Will lived his life in constant awareness of himself, guarding his every expression and calculating his every word, so as to present a front that was most cold and misbehaving, and wherever it was possible he would drift away from gathered occasions into the sweet solitude of the institute halls, where he could allow himself a rare relaxation of carelessness that had come to be his only salvation.

And so, as he halted in the doorway of the drawing room in reaction to the new child in Charlottes grasp, he did not expect to be addressed in any form, nor acknowledged in their company. From where he stood, Will could see only the curve of the boys back as he faced the hearth, and even so Will could tell that that he was not watching the flames that flickered within. The clothes that Charlotte had dressed him in must have been Wills, as they stretched to a point that was beyond the child's own width, and hung from him in a deflated manner which only made the droop to his shoulders seem more severe as he curled in on himself in his armchair. He was so small amongst the cushions of the chair that it was really no wonder that Will had missed him, and it seemed as though he was trying to disappear himself, as he strained away from Charlotte's grasp, and her words passed over him without audible reply. Will was straining to discern the boy's expression through the mess of ink shaded hair that covered it when Charlotte spotted him haunting the doorway. She seemed at first as though she was going to ignore him, but a quick glance down at the boy seemed to change her mind and she beckoned Will silently with her index finger into the room.

"James? This is William; he is the same age as you and lives here with us, just like you will." Charlotte said, giving James' shoulder a reassuring squeeze as an indication that he should turn. She caught Will's eye, and the look there was almost a warning to be civil, "William, this is James, he's come all the way from the Shanghai institute to live with us here in London."

James turned in his seat obediently, and caught sight of Will for the first time. Will had never seen a face quite like his before, not in person. James was pale, even more so than himself, yet had eyes darker than the dead of night, set large against the small oval of his face. Those black eyes were shaped in a way that Will had never seen; they did not arch in a perfect circle as he knew eyes were wont to be, but seemed to flow outwards into a sharp point, that was more like the stroke of an artist's brush, rather than a simple ending of the eyelid. As well as the peculiar eyes, he had a thin face which arched down from cheekbones that protruded just under that artist's point, which gave his expression an ethereal aspect which Will guessed he was not aware of. James watched him with a mixture of fear and blatant sadness, which set his face pale and eyes wide to a point that was worrisome. Despite this, he held Will's eye as they stood to company, and did not falter when Will slid his indifferent mask solidly into place. As a matter of habit, facts began to filter through his mind as James' face triggered his memory. He had read books about China, and images of men with artisan eyes like James' flashed across his vision, accompanied by figures regarding the opium trade, Western conquests, rice fields and a tongue that sounded of crackling ashes and taut instrument strings. He saw flashes of silken gowns, not unlike robes, pass through the shining black pools of James' eyes, along with wooden shoes, swirling architecture and houses that were mounted on the very rivers themselves, as men with hats made of some kind of straw sailed out on half-moon shell boats and caught fish with nets made of such fine threading that not even the slightest of creatures could escape them.

Will was not sure if his face had changed during his musings, but James' eyes were suddenly filled with something that made Will's stomach flip in a way that was most uncomfortable. Though his eyes were black as ash, there was a stirring shine to them that made them seem like something one could fall into forever, rather than hit like a solid surface. Something placid and very vulnerable passed through them as James watched Will before him, and the corners of his mouth seemed to turn up in the most negligible of ways. Will recognized the fluttering thing as hope, something small, blind and very very dangerous to him should Will allow it to kindle. Charlotte had her gaze trained on Will expectantly, and he found himself caught in a situation of great pressure to douse whatever niceties had been established with this silent boy. In the spotlight of those hypnotizing eyes however, Will found he could not bring forth any words of scorn, nothing but that gaze seemed to exist before him, patient and timid as it waited for him to make his first advance.

"William?" Charlotte's coaxing voice pulled him mercifully from his reverie, as though he had been drowning and she had lifted his head above water. Will looked from her to James, shaking himself as one did when roused from a dream, and acted upon the first thing that entered his clouded mind. Will turned on his heel, shoulders set, and strode from the room without a seconds delay, setting his pace fast enough so that they had not the time to notice the way that Will's hands had begun to shake.

That night, when Will guessed he would not be intercepted, he slipped from his room and began his usual ritual of pacing about the institute until his mother's lullaby would wane in his mind to a volume where sleep could find him through it. He had only his witch light to guide him, and so had fair warning that the drawing room was occupied yet again long before he reached it, as the light cast from the fire within sent dancing shadows along the hallway long past its source. Will doused his own light quietly and crept toward the sound of conversation with curiosity. He discerned the soft voice of Charlotte, but the low one that accompanied it was one that he could not place, and he craned his neck around the doorway just enough to see who it belonged to. Charlotte was in the armchair that James had occupied earlier that day, and was addressing a tall man situated amongst the cushions on the chaise. The stranger had slanting eyes that tapered to the same elegant point as James', but his skin was the colour of creamed coffee, and seemed to smolder in the light of the fire. His long fingers traced invisible paths along the sides of his tea cup as he listened to Charlotte speak, his brow furrowed and lips pressed against one another in unhappy understanding.

"He has yet to speak a word since his arrival, save for an occasional assent to my explanations, and seems as though he'll fall to pieces as soon as my back is turned from him," she was murmuring, her troubled eyes on the fire, and her tea held to her lips, though she did not drink.

"Can you say that you are surprised, given the situation from whence he came? Losing one's parents could beget worse behavior," the man answered, his tone clipped and words strained, as though he did not wish to be present, yet bore it for the sake of a motive that was beyond Will's knowledge.

"I realize that, but I can't help but feel that this is all the worse, I cannot fathom what passes through his mind, and that is the reason I feel that I cannot comfort him." Will flinched away from the light as he saw Charlotte shift in her seating, but she did this only to relieve her hands of her cup and instead clasp them to her own arms self-consciously. Will was just shy of letting a relieved breath pass his lips, but it left him before he could do so, as the stranger had caught sight of him where he stood, and was watching him with evident interest. Will froze in every iota of his being, as the stranger ran his eyes over Will's terrified expression, and slowly his long black eyebrow rose along with the corner of his mouth with amusement. His eyes may have resembled James' in shape, but what glinted within was very different. The stranger had eyes the colour of molten gold, which sunk inward into a hue not unlike spring grass. Such contrasting colours were shocking to ascertain, but not so shocking as the peaked nature of his pupils, which widened before him to a volume so delicately curved it was as though they were spun in glass. His eyes were bright, speculative, and matched exactly those of a cat. Will had seen warlocks before, had marveled at their marks. What unsettled him about this man was the subtlety with which he carried his mark, one that seemed to communicate an intuitiveness far beyond the young age presented in his features.

The warlock held Will's gaze for a moment longer, and took a breath that Will anticipated would carry his own presence on it; but then the warlocks gaze flittered away as sharply as it had come, and was replaced on Charlotte, who was still fixated with the curling flames.

"Does he _want_ comfort?" The warlock inquired in an accusatory tone, his fingers tapping on the frame of the chaise irritably. Charlottes gaze snapped toward him then, her shoulders straightening defensively.

"What child does not need comforting?" She asked him haughtily, disbelief souring her answer. Will shrank on himself a little at her words, as comfort had been one of the many things that he had rejected at Charlotte's offering. As he was deciding whether he felt guilty for not accepting or regretful, out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw the warlock's gaze flash to him once more for a moment, then away as fleetingly.

"It matters not; your crisis isn't my concern. You called me here at this hideous hour to seek my advice, what is your inquiry regarding this boy?" He said, placing his cup down dismissively, as though the thing itself represented general conversation, and he was finished with it. Charlotte did not seem taken aback by his reluctant behavior, and Will wondered if this abhorrence was one saved for Charlotte alone, or whether the warlock hated nephillim in mass. Will had read in the Codex that downworlders and shadowhunters hated one another on principle, yet downworlders were obligated under threat of death to adhere to shadowhunter questioning. Will often saw warlocks, werewolves, vampires and faeries speaking with Charlotte and Henry within the institute, though these meetings were usually secretive, and Will only ever heard them as he did now, in hiding.

The warlock's patience seemed to be tried, and Charlotte took this as an indication to make her intention obvious, and began to speak.

"The boy's parents were killed by the greater demon Yanluo, but said demon was destroyed by shadowhunters before it had the chance to finish the boy," Charlotte began, both Will and the warlock listening intently now, "for days the demon injected the child with its own poison, which I've been told sent him into terrors and fits that have taken great amounts of that time from his memory. Since the attack -"

"Has the child been under the influence of the poison since the torture?" The warlock interrupted, his face suddenly drained of colour, and his eyes wide in reaction to Charlottes explanation. Charlotte took a moment to register the question itself, frowning deeply in confusion before answering, with a slightly sarcastic inflection to her tone, "Of course he hasn't –"

"How long ago was he attacked?" The warlock interrupted again, his voice pitching higher with an emergency that Charlotte now recognized. This time she did not falter.

"A month or so, I know not the day," she answered quietly, her eyes keen with worry at the agitation that had overcome her guest, who was clenching and unclenching his fists in deep concentration of her calculation. At her answer his mouth fell open, and his face changed into something rather more angered than it had been before.

"And you have only sought my aid now? You need to give the little nephillim more of the drug this instant!" he snapped, causing both Will and Charlotte to jolt in surprise; Charlotte was the first to recover.

"Give him more – Are you insane?" She began, her tone bemused and spine straight as a cane in anticipation of the strangers next outburst.

"_Are you?"_ He growled, seeming very close to rising from his seat, "The poison that you are referring to is extracted and compounded into a drug, and if the child does not ingest a good quantity of it very soon, he is going to die from withdrawal."

Charlotte did not seem to be able to comprehend this, she stared at the stranger as though in dreaming and did not seem to find any coherent answer, "I – give him more? Where would we even -?"

Before she could finish, the warlock let an irritated groan pass his lips. He waved his fingers and out of the very air a small velvet pouch fell into his palm. He held the little package toward Charlotte, who stared at as though it would attack her should she move a muscle. Will had never seen someone perform magic before, but found that the fast and uncertain nature of it unsettled him almost as much as Charlotte seemed to be.

"The drug is called _Yin Fen_," the warlock began, his voice grim, "it is a stimulant. It gives an initial burst of inhuman energy that causes the user to experience feelings of euphoric invincibility, and when taken over long periods of time, will kill it's user by eating them from the inside out."

Charlotte inhaled a breath so sharp it whistled, and she flinched from the pouch with a repulsion that sent shivers through her entire body. The warlock held it out as firmly as before, his expression sure and slightly weary with waiting.

"Kill him? How could you think I would give that to him, knowing what it will do to him?" The anger had drained from Charlotte altogether, and what remained was purely fearful, and confused as to what the warlock wanted her to do.

"If you refuse to give it to him, he is going to die, within the next few moons I'd wager. This way he may have more time." He answered resolutely, extending the pouch further as he did so.

"There must be another way, perhaps he can be weaned off the drug in due time, if it is measured out to him in dwindling masses -"

"What is the child's name?" The warlock asked quietly, stopping her thought process with a tone that was not unkind, but still pointed. Charlotte stared at him for a moment, her shoulders sinking as she took in his stern expression.

"James," she uttered the name with a tenderness that Will had not heard in a very long time. If she had ever spoken his name with such affection, it had not been spoken so for long, as he was sure he had been dead to her for a long while now. It seemed as though a great mass was weighing down his chest as he considered the idea that this gentle woman might lose another child, into which she had channeled her affections. The stranger seemed to recognize the lilt to her voice as well, his features falling into something very close to sympathy as he delivered his conclusion in a low voice, so low that the crackling of the fire almost overpowered it.

"Mrs. Branwell, James is dying, the only choice you have in the matter is how long you allow for him to suffer. If you give him the drug, it will sate his need for a short while, and he will live for a considerable time if he takes as little as possible only when he has to. Even so, the drug will eventually ruin him, and then he will die. If you do not give him the drug, he will be free of the addiction much sooner, and his death could be merciful."

Will felt as though a stone had been dropped into his stomach at the warlock's cruel words, and wondered briefly at the fact that his hands had begun to shake. Dying? He'd thought that only his existence caused dying, and the prospect of someone meeting their end outside of his blame was something he had never experienced. He hadn't the chance to wonder at it however, as Charlotte stiffly rose from her armchair, and cleared her throat of what sounded to be tears. Will pulled himself away from the door and rushed across the hallway into the shadow cast by the staircase, careful to place himself in a position where he was still able to listen.

"I'm afraid that I have been very much mistaken in enlisting your help Mr. Bane. There is a means of weaning James from the demon drug, and I shall seek the aid of the Silent Brothers in order to find it. The hour is late; I trust that you know the way out?" Charlotte's voice was quiet and threatening, and Will heard the reluctant shuffling of the warlock Bane as he complied with her coarse demand. As his light footsteps drew closer, Will heard Charlotte call out to him with heavy irritation.

"There is no need to leave _that_ here. I will not be administering it to James without first consulting the Silent Brothers." Bane did not cease in his path, and lingered only when he reached the doorway of the drawing room and Will could see him clearly in the light of the fire. Warlock Bane did not look to Charlotte as he addressed her, but his eyes sought Will out immediately in his hiding place, making him startle from the ease with which he did it. Will knew that to the naked eye, the amount of shadow he had cloaked himself in would make him invisible; did the warlock's mark aid him in the darkness as cat's eyes might?

"You would be hard of luck to find a Brother with a spare smattering of _yin fen_ lying about his quarters, that is from my own personal cabinet and I expect compensation for my generosity." Mr. Bane winked once at Will, almost imperceptibly, and strode away without another word into the darkness of the hallway, his tread as light as that of a cat to match his mark. Moments later Charlotte emerged, and Will shrank back, fearful that she would spot him as well. Her eyes remained forward however, and in the cast of the hearth Will could have sworn he saw tears running down her cheeks; but with a mournful cast toward the velvet material in her hand, she mounted the staircase silently and was soon lost from sight. Will slid to the floor where he stood, his heart racing and breath quickening with the information he had just heard.

**The institute is not his home.**

**James is dying, not because of him.**

**He will never see his family again.**

**He is poison, but so is _yin fen_.**

.

.

_Ni all unrhyw freuddwyd o fy nyfodol fy ysbryd godi ei galon;_

.

_Warlock Bane had been right._

True to her word, Charlotte had summoned the Silent Brothers in order to find a method with which she could wean James from the poison which had ensnared his body. The first time Will saw Brother Enoch, he had very nearly screamed for the sight that had befallen him. Only with discreet reassurance from Henry did Will find any understanding regarding Enoch's emaciated appearance, and still he avoided the ghostly creature wherever it was possible. Will had caught James exiting his chamber after his first visit from the Brother, and his expression indicated that he had seen as little of the former shadowhunters as Will had. Will was drawn to the situation with a fascination that superseded reason, but was careful to avoid any interaction with James himself, as he feared that he would not be able to hide his true face should those eyes draw him in as they had on their first meeting. For weeks, different Brothers came and went, floating alongside Charlotte into James' room, where the doors would be closed and Will would have to linger about covertly in order to hear anything.

The Silent Brothers did not speak aloud, but communicated through the minds of others, and this made it rather difficult for Will to ascertain entirely what was happening in the room most of time. What made it obvious to him were the sounds that came from the place; horrid, drawn out screams would ensue whenever James was left for long periods of time without the drug; tearing, ragged shrieks when his mind was being excavated by the Brothers, and soft whimpers when they were finished. Only silence made the Brothers leave, it was as though they brought the howls of pain with them, and took them when they departed. Charlotte seemed to forget that Will existed, and would pass him by in the halls with eyes that were still watching what had happened in the room behind her, filled with sadness and defeat.

James was ever quiet; Will often watched him leave the room after his treatments had finished, his face would be streaked with old tears, and his mouth would be permanently turned down with the weight of his own memory. To counteract his daytime silence, Will's night soon became filled with the haunting pleas of a boy who was tortured by shadowhunters during the day and tortured by his unlocked memories in the night. James' nightmares were worse than Will's own, and they plagued his every sleeping hour without fail. Will would often find himself lingering outside James' door during the night, fighting an absurd urge to go in and wake him, something Charlotte and Henry had long since ceased doing.

Sometimes the sounds would be accompanied by great amounts of coughing, and on those nights Charlotte would rush to his room, and call in a Silent Brother at mad hours of the morning to soothe whatever fit James was having within. Will knew not of their nature, but was educated one night when he heard footsteps approaching James' door. Will had thrown himself behind a brass statue of John the Shadowhunter down the hallway, shielding himself from sight just as Charlotte came bustling into the corridor, her arms swaddled with the fabric of James' sheets. Will watched in horror as the light of her witch stone caught against the slick, sliding patterns of wet blood across the material, and made it shimmer in a way that was sickening to behold. In haste, Charlotte exited down the hall, and Will had the sudden inkling that he was being observed in his hiding place. He had turned and been scared from his wits to find a great hovering figure gazing down at him from under a parchment coloured hood. He could not see the face beneath Brother Enoch's robe, but there was something in the creature's presence that exuded disapproval.

_Lord crown the man that can hear a Silent Brother approaching, _Will thought exasperatedly, his heart still beating from the fright.

'_If you were as quiet as I, little Herondale, one would not know that you are ever sneaking,' _a sober voice sounded in his head, making him jump once again with the proximity of it. Had Brother Enoch known he was there the entire time? Had he known at every other occasion before it?

'_I hear you always William Herondale, and I am not the only one,' _Brother Enoch thought, unmoving. Will found the experience all too uncomfortable, and wanted to rid himself of this place more than anything. He wondered briefly how James survived hours of this violation, but cursed himself when he remembered that the Brother was reading his every thought.

'_Our treatment is a great source of pain for James Carstairs, but you scorn him with a pain that is greater,' _Enoch continued, drifting away yet maintaining the volume with which his voice sounded in Will's head, '_you are in his mind like a ghost, you haunt his every step yet you dare not speak, do not interact with him. It brings him great sadness. That is something that you should know.'_

"How is that a problem of mine?" Will had hissed defensively, careful to keep his voice low so no one would hear.

'_He has enough sadness already, without you.' _Brother Enoch had concluded dejectedly, before disappearing into the darkness and leaving Will with silence and a space left in his head that had not been there previously.

With the time that James had after the Silent Brothers had finished with him, he often remained in his room to rest, and when he came out he did so in solitude, slinking away to the training room or library where he could sink down wearily unnoticed and play his violin. Will had noticed the intricate instrument when he had heard soft music floating from the library one afternoon, and had snuck behind the nearest shelf in order to listen. The sound was unlike all other music he had heard; it rose and fell as rapidly as though it's very balance lay upon the air that surrounded it, and always had a distinctly sad lilt to its sound, no matter the notes that were played. Will heard the music and felt James' sadness slide along the ridges that the sound made through the air, felt every emotion in its composition as if he were communicating all the things he could not say aloud. James played faraway lands, sleepless nights and being lost; most of all he played his own sense of aimlessness in a world that gave him nothing but pain and suffering, a sound which never failed to bring Will to his knees with its potency. Will would peek through the books and see James' eyes close as the music overwhelmed him, and his arm would move as though at its own accord, pulling from the strings something that was much more meaningful to him than merely music. Each time he left to play, Will would follow him in secret and listen to him create, closing his eyes and learning so much about the boy that he had never spoken to just through the sounds that he made with his violin.

Weeks of torture turned to months, and soon the Silent Brothers lessened their visits. Warlock Bane's supply of the drug had soon depleted and Henry was forced to seek him out once more for the source that he used. He stumbled through the doors of the institute some time later with one eyebrow still smoking from the encounter, but held a slip of paper with instructions scrawled upon in elegant script in his hand triumphantly. Soon the Brothers did not come at all, and Henry would make frequent trips into the London underground in order to restock James with the _yin fen_. The institute became quiet in its defeat, save for the nights, and James remained silent and solitary like Will, though he was rather more liked by the members of the institute than Will was. It seemed as though all hope for his recovery was lost, though Will knew that Charlotte and Henry would never cease searching for a cure, as it was in their hopeless caring nature.

One afternoon, it was raining biblically in the streets and had been for days; the light cast into the institute was a bland monotone, which seemed to draw the spirits from all who dwelt within. Will found James lingering about the training room rather aimlessly. He had made the excuse that he wanted to practice knife throwing to Charlotte earlier that morning at the dining table, in order to escape her smothering offers of unwanted food and tea. Will drew closer to him now as he prepared an awfully incorrect throwing pose; Brother Enoch's words still lingered in the forefront of Will's mind, and he could no longer withhold his own irrational curiosity toward the silent boy.

"You're holding the hilt all wrong," Will called out helpfully. James started so violently that he dropped the knife in anticipation of throwing it, and Will was close enough to reach out and catch the blade before it ran through his foot. James stared at him with alarm and confusion, those black eyes swirling with such a surprise Will thought he might flee. Will tried not to look at them as he held out the knife in an offering, but James merely gawked at his outstretched hand in the same panic as before.

"I'm William Herondale, do you remember?" He asked, feeling suddenly awkward with the boy watched him as though he were insane.

"I remember," James answered in a quiet voice, pausing for a moment and looking heavenward in concentration, before he said, "I am James Carstairs. Your hand is bleeding."

Will looked down and saw dark blood trickling through his fingers, realizing that he had caught the knife by its sharp end, and cut his palm in the process. He pulled his hand away in reaction, tearing off the corner of his sleeve in order to bandage it.

"I know that, about your name. Why did you have to think before you said it?" He inquired, wanting to draw attention away from his bleeding hand and in conjunction his own stupidity. James blushed slightly, dropping his eyes to the floor, "Words are… ordered differently in this language," he said, his tone tentative and slightly embarrassed.

"Are things very different where you come from?" Will asked, his eagerness to know about Jem's past overcoming his sense of propriety. Jem did not seem to notice however, as his eyes passed Will and clouded with a memory of something decidedly wistful and very unlike his present surroundings.

"Yes, things are very different where I come from," he said, rather dispassionately, and once again returned his eyes to the ground. A silence passed between them and, feeling the need to distract James from his thoughts, Will hastily cleaned the knife against the corner of his shirt and placed it in James' hand. For a split second, the skin of their palms touched; Will felt a sudden hot shiver erupt from it like fire at contact with another human being, something he had not felt in almost a year. James' skin was cold, and calloused as it pressed against his own, and Will found that he reacted in almost the same way that Will did. How long had it been since James had voluntarily touched another person? Did his skin burn in the same way?

Will pushed the dangerous thoughts from his mind and removed his hand from James' quickly, though the tingle remained in his palm long after he did so.

"You aren't holding the knife close enough to its tip, there's no leverage in it," Will said, struggling to keep his voice steady, "and you need to put more weight onto your right foot, which rests out in front of you like this," Will demonstrated for him, and James copied him obediently, with a concentration that was so keen that within a minute he had the stance replicated perfectly.

"Didn't you learn to throw knives at your institute in Shanghai? You needn't make such a fuss of the arc, it's a waste of time," Will added, demonstrating the motion yet again for James to see. He cast the knife forward and it missed its mark by a great width, but made the distance easily where before it had failed. Will rushed forward to collect the knife, and returned it to him, making sure not to touch him again directly.

"A little, but I didn't take to it as easily, I preferred other things much more," James answered his previous question mildly, repositioning himself to throw again.

"Like the violin? I've heard you play," Will guessed, feeling suddenly self-conscious to the point that he began untying and retying his bandage in order to avoid James' gaze, "I – sometimes hide so I can listen to you play,"

James faltered momentarily, but mercifully maintained his gaze upon the target ahead. He hesitated and frowned slightly before he admitted, "I know,"

Will looked up from his fumbling in shock, and James shot him a quick apprehensive look before he threw the knife. It missed his target much more than it had the last time, but neither of them dared to note it. Will attempted to collect himself as he went to retrieve it, and only thinly managed to hold the boy's gaze when he returned with knife in hand.

"Does it make you uncomfortable? I can stop doing it." Will offered, trying to keep his tone impartial, and communicate the false impression that the sweet music was nothing of importance to him.

"_No,"_ James answered very suddenly, and seemed to startle as though the word had come forth without his control. Blushing fiercely, though it was hard to tell the real severity of it with skin as pale as his, James sank into a clumsy position and only returned his eyes to Wills quickly as he added, rather quietly, "I don't mind it."

Will felt a blush creeping to his cheeks as well, and it passed by his will power whilst he was distracted keeping the smile off his face, "Don't make such a motion of the release, the accuracy is completely in the wrist," he said in reply, making a flicking motion with his wrist and biding James to do the same. He did so in silence, and the next throw found the outer most ring of the target with a one clean turn that James seemed to be unable to comprehend as something that had come from his grip.

"You have very nimble wrists, they're good for throwing. Is that from playing the violin?" James nodded, something close to pride crossing his features, from the throw or the mention of the violin Will knew not.

"You're very good, where did you learn it?"

"My father taught me, before -" James broke off, his gaze dropping and his brows furrowing. Suddenly it was as though James was very far away; he seemed to bend in on himself as a pain began to bloom in his chest. After a moment Will could hear his breath break from its even rhythm into something decidedly shallower. Seeing him as he was, Will could no longer hold in his burning question, and knew beyond a doubt that if he did not ask then, he would not have the chance.

"You're not really dying," Will said, the oddest tone to his voice, "are you?" James only watched him for a long while, and it gave time for the mixed feelings of shame and sickened hope to swell inside him until he was ill with it. The rational part of him wished for the words to be retracted, but another overpowered it, one which Will could not define yet knew it to be a part of him that was forbidden.

_If he isn't dying, it's all the better that he hates me for asking,_ Will reasoned nervously, _but if he is… _Magnus' words floated back to him, accompanied but a whole new wave of guilt and mad hope, _"he will be free of the addiction much sooner, and his death could be merciful…"_ What would Will be to him but a more merciful means of meeting his end? James was still watching him with shock, but something passed over him soon after that looked alarmingly like defeat.

"I think… That I am," he whispered, and a wonder at his own acceptance kindled in his eyes, something triumphant but in the worst possible way. His face changed from something open and understanding, to a mess of angles and furrows as he spoke. The phrase for his expression was lingering just past the shadows of Will's mind; he strained in order to remember.

"A hollow victory," Will said under his breath, and realized that he had uttered the phrase aloud with a great embarrassment. James was not angered however, but merely stared once more in a way that was confused yet tender, and made the base of Will's neck tingle. Was James ever angry? Will had never seen him in a temper, and something about the name as firm as James did not seem to fit him when Will had the thought.

"Is your name the same here as it was in China?" Will asked, knowing that in Welsh his name had been pronounced Gwilym, and wondered whether James had changed his name likewise. It took James a considerable amount of time to understand Will's irrelevant question, but soon shook his head with a newfound heaviness that Will guessed was not unrelated to the subject.

"What was it before you came?" Will asked, holding his ground and his gaze now in anticipation of the answer.

"Jian." James said, the name passing his lips on a breath itself, quick and gentle. _Jian_, Will tested the name in thought, _jian_. Yes, it was fitting, more so than James ever had been. Will spoke again, his unguarded words delivered without any of his usual reason, "Do you like the name James?"

He shook his head again, this time with more vigor, and spoke without being coaxed, "The coachman who brought me here, he called me Jem. I preferred it to James. It seems… warmer."

"My sister used to call me Will," he said before thinking, and cursed himself for his stupidity. It was too late however; James was already frowning with the new concept.

"Does your sister live here as well?" He asked innocently, his eyes open and kind. Will's first reaction was a defensive one, the urge to erect a wall between himself and the boy who was really nothing but a stranger overwhelming; But James was waiting, silent and patient, with nothing but interest in his black eyes. Will searched within himself for justification to deny this boy, and found none.

"No, my sister is dead," Will answered truthfully, seeing it as punishment that he should have to share the fact for his foolish slip of the tongue. James hesitated, shuffling from one foot to the other uncomfortably. Will wondered if he would make his leave; but though he was taken aback by Will's confession, he kept his stead politely.

"I'm sorry for your loss Will; my parents are dead, so I know what it is to lose family." James said quietly, and Will's head snapped up at the use of his shortened name. James was watching him through his inky eyelashes, wary of his own actions as much as Will was, unsure of whether or not he had crossed a line. The expression was so hopeful and so vulnerable that Will could no longer help himself, wanting the companionship just as much, if not more, than James. Will had not interacted with another person as he was now in so long, and the vulnerability of it all had his nerves buzzing with new energy.

"And I am sorry for the losses of yours, Jem." He answered, feeling something very warm and tender unfolding when James smiled for the first time since they'd met. The expression very nearly glowed off him, and Will knew what people meant when they claimed that someone's smile could be infectious. He could almost feel the joy sink against own lips, as they curved upward without any instruction from him. Will shared the first smile he had ever allowed since his curse with Jem in the gaze afternoon light, and thought that perhaps he had never felt so alive in his life.

Jem held the knife out to him, careful to present the hilt instead of the blade. This small gesture made Will want to laugh in the most absurd manner, for a reason that he neither grasped nor cared for.

"Do you want throw one?" Jem asked shyly, the corner his lip turning upwards. Will took the knife from him carelessly, and this time the brush of skin was something entirely other than unwelcome.

**The institute is neither of their homes.**

**Jem is dying, but not because of him.**

**He will never see his family again.**

**He is poison, but one amongst many.**

.

.

_Dim ond yn gallu magu ar y gorffennol ac yn ei disgleirdeb,_

_._

The nights were the worst time in the institute, and tended to follow a familiar pattern.

On the rare evenings that Will could find sleep, he was roused from it soon after by sickeningly contrasted images of turning mountains and festering bodies, both which, maddeningly, granted him the same amount of pain. Toward the stroke of midnight, the shouts and whimpers would begin to float out from under Jem's door, and reach every room in the estate. Those who were dreaming would hastily find their way back to reality, and those who were there already would lose all chance of rest for the remainder of the night. Will began to keep time by Jem's nightmares, knowing the futility of his nights rest by the introduction of such a repetitive racket. At that time Will would exit his room in defeat, and stumble about the halls until day finally broke through the high windows. Jem's screams could always be heard for fair while, until Charlotte or Henry were able to stir him from his terrors, and often this was when the coughing would begin. The attacks did not happen each night, but they were often enough that Jem sometimes kept to his room for a day's length following them in order to recover. Will was always drawn to his room, after the screaming and coughing had ceased and the attendants had left, though he found he could do naught but ghost about the boy's door.

Will was morbidly fascinated with the fact that someone else was haunted by their own memories as he was, and wondered whether Jem found more respite in his laments than Will did in his silence. Did Will cry out in his sleep? No one had ever come to comfort him, so he guessed that either he was quiet or those who heard him felt no desire to help him. He would not have been surprised if it was the latter, and knew that if they ever did come he would send them away with every foul measure. At night he was most vulnerable, so it was at night that he sought the most solitude.

Such a habit was changed the night that, for the first time, no one came for Jem. Will was waiting in his bed for the moans to begin, and when they did he slipped into his usual pacing. The sounds echoed about the walls as Will padded through the darkness, but were not soothed in their usual haste. When the sounds were as violent as they were that night, it indicated of an attack, and Charlotte always found him before they really began. Frowning, Will waited for a while longer, straining as though the struggles would abate by his own concentration. He snuck to Jem's door and waited for the tapping of Charlotte's feet against the floorboards in answer to Jem's calls. Long minutes past and no such instance occurred, and Will wondered whether they had become accustomed to the noise enough to sleep through it. Jem continued to shout, and Will knew that the sensible thing to do would be to make his leave, but something fastened him to the spot, a resonance that struck him deeper than rationality would have allowed.

Will knew the horror of nightmares as well as Jem did, and knew even better the hollow disappointment of waking to an empty room. Will had spent countless nights waking from his turbulent dreams and watching, heat swirling off his skin and into the cool air, as the room remained ever indifferent as it had been before. Such realizations made for a heavier heart than what had been experienced in the nightmares, and as Will imagined Jem's gentle face falling into the same sad acceptance as his, a new resolve to be present when that screaming ended grew within him to a point that it overcame his sensibility. Will crossed the hallway and pushed through Jem's door, his attention immediately drawn to the small mass that seemed to be suffocating inside that grasp of its own sheets. Will could hear Jem murmuring in his sleep, repeating words again and again that were not in any language that Will understood. He could not see Jem in the bed, but the sounds guided him, and without any proper knowledge about how to wake another person politely, began to shake him. This seemed to upset him more initially, and he fought with a yell against Will's hands. Will held him down as best he could whilst he tried to unwrap him from the constraints of his bed linen and perhaps hinder whatever situation the constraints had formulated within his dream.

"James!" Will hissed, in a desperate attempt to reach him through all the noise and thrashing, "James, James… Jem,"

At the last, Jem's eyes flew open and all the chaos of before ceased in an instant. Will found that the sudden calm so rapidly after the storm struck him into shock, as Jem's eyes swirled into focus and he locked his gaze with Wills. At the realization that it was Will waking him, Jem's face fell into a confused frown, and Will had not the time to recover and explain before Jem was doubled over, suddenly seized with a fit of violent coughing that sent his entire body reeling forward as though his shoulders were attached to a taught wire. Will, startled by such a reaction, let Jem go as the child coughed violently and to the point of retching. A splattering of black liquid sprayed across the surface of the sheets where Jem's head was lowered, and Will had a visceral urge to turn and flee from the room whilst he still had the chance, rather than have to deal with one of these attacks. But Jem was so defenseless, and no one was coming; Will knew that if he left then that he would hurt Jem more than he had in all the little betrayals that he'd inflicted upon him since his arrival. The boy before him was dying, his back bent and chest heaving; and Will knew that if he could not give the dying respect, he could not give it to anyone.

"Steady Jem, what does Charlotte do to stop the coughing?" Will asked, taking him by the shoulders in order to keep him steady. Jem looked up at Will briefly, the same confusion painted across his face, before another wave of violence shook through his body and he had to look away.

"Where is Charlotte-? I… need some more of the-" Jem coughed again, and did not finish the sentence before Will did so for him.

"Do you mean the _yin fen_?" He asked, already searching the room at a glance for a red velvet pouch, before reminding himself that the portion was long depleted. Jem looked at him again, surprise mingling into his face as well, "How did you know -?"

"I overheard Charlotte discussing it with Henry," Will lied, cutting Jem off before his own fits did, "How much do you need?" Jem shot him a scrupulous look, hearing the lie in Will's voice but was either too ill or unwilling to ask him to account for it.

"I don't know, the more it… Hurts, the more- I need." Jem huffed in between coughs, bracing himself against the bed rest and clutching at his side. Will shook his hands once, in a need to regain his attention.

"Where do you keep the drug?" Will asked, trying to keep his voice calm and barely managing the task. Jem watched him with a reluctance that made him hesitate, as though he did not want Will to know where he kept his powder, but seemed to relent as a sharp pain took him and he wrinkled his eyes closed against it, "In the box- on the bedside shelf,"

Will scrambled from the bed and found the box in question. It was silver, and had inscribed into it an enamel depiction of a woman in white robes, caught in the movement of pouring water from a vase into a stream. She was beautiful, and Will remembered reading about her in a book about Chinese legends and deities. Kwan Yin was the goddess of mercy and compassion, and Will wondered briefly whether or not the listener of prayers was an ironic or wishful choice for this particular box. Jem drew forth a loaded breath, and uttered something fast and sharp in his own language that though Will could not translate, knew it spoke of pain. Jem had said that his level of pain was directly proportional to the amount of the drug that he needed, but Will could not tell without any direction from the sufferer himself.

"How much does it hurt?" Will asked without thinking, and immediately cursed himself for asking what felt like the densest question of his lifetime. Jem must have interpreted the question much the same, for he opened one accusing eye briefly in Will's direction, then closed it once more, "You'll have to be a little more specific, or the answer will simply be _a lot._" Jem gasped, his voice surprisingly diplomatic, despite the idiocy of Will's falter. Will thought for a moment, but was interrupted in devising a solution when Jem buckled forward once again and sent blood dripping along his coverings like black stars in the dim light. Grappling desperately for some context under pressure, Will let his words go before he'd attached any sense to them.

"On a scale of one to ten, how much does it hurt?" He wheezed out, feeling as though he could not be any more unhelpful to this boy if he tried. He received the impression that Jem felt the same as he squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head away; for a moment Will thought that he would not answer. But Jem paused, and seemed to consider himself for a moment, before answering weakly, "It is hard to tell, maybe a- six?"

Will nodded, though Jem could not see him; and opened the box to measure the drug, though he knew not how much a six would require. He soon realized that he had no idea of how to administer the substance to Jem. He was in a mind to ask, but received an answer before he did so.

"It needs to be dissolved in water- there's a basin beside it," Jem said, his back still turned and shoulders shaking. Will ladled an amount to one generous scoop into the bowl on impulse, and began stirring it in order to combine the elements faster. Instead of becoming a smooth liquid however, the _yin fen_ began to gather into itself and clump under the water's surface. Will was not sure if Jem usually took the drug this way, but felt that time was of the essence and knew that whichever way Jem took it, it had to be soon. Will brought the bowl over to Jem where he sat, and offered it toward with an unsure gesture, not knowing what was supposed to occur next. Jem, seeming to smell the drug, opened his eyes and glanced into the bowl, his brows furrowing as he did so.

"Why is it compounded?" He asked in a whisper, taking one lump from the mixture and biting into it experimentally. The gag that followed the movement was almost instantaneous, and Jem very nearly knocked the whole bowl from Will's grip as his body rebelled against the taste. After some struggle, Will saw his throat move as he swallowed, but the colour that was left on his face had turned to something rather close to green.

"I don't know, I only stirred it," Will said apologetically, watching with guilt as Jem flicked his tongue across his lips in an attempt to rid them of the taste. He cast a mournful look at Will from below his dark eyelashes, and just barely remained neutral as he answered, "maybe you shouldn't do that next time,"

"I can make more, if it's very awful," Will offered, starting to rise. Jem placed a gentle hand on his arm to steady him, and Will tried to ignore the fact that his nerves lit up like witchlight at his burning touch. Jem's face, though sickly, was flushed with fever; Will had not the slightest clue how to bring ones temperature down, and hoped the drug would solve that problem as well.

"No, it is too valuable, and Henry goes to such- trouble to get it, I will manage." Jem answered ruefully, and put the remainder of the clump into his mouth quickly, as though hoping to take himself off guard. Jem choked through the remainder of the mixture without complaint, but could not prevent the retching and gagging that it caused him. Will, feeling ill himself with the guilt of causing such discomfort for the already uncomfortable boy, remained silent and reassuring as Jem finished the drug, patting his back every now and then. By the end of it Jem was exhausted, but his coughing had ceased and his skin was taken with a lighter pallor than it had previously.

Will took the soiled sheets from the bed and threw them into the corner, unsure of where Charlotte usually took them, and quickly replaced them with some from the same drawers that Will had in his room. Jem seemed close to sleep once Will had pulled the linen about his neck, and he took this as indication that he should make his leave and return to his wanderings until sunrise. As he was shuffling toward the door, Will heard a voice call him back. It was quiet and very weak, but filled with a longing that landed over Will like a cold fog, "Must you leave?"

Will turned to find that Jem was staring at him from his place on the bed, those eyes almost indistinguishable in the surrounding darkness. His small face was so hopeful, yet already disheartened with the expectation of Will's rejection. Will thought of the hours he would spend walking about the institute following this encounter, and found that he did not yearn for the solitude as much as he did for this boys company, who waited with loneliness so like his own that he could not disengage himself from it.

"I can retrieve Charlotte or Henry, if you need any more assistance," Will offered dishonestly, feeling the selfish need to test the strength of Jem's want for him. Jem's face fell, and the line of his lips set with the understanding that Will's company was not on offer.

"No, that isn't necessary; I do not wish to be administered to." He said, closing his eyes and turning away from Will. The gesture was laden with such a sad acceptance that Will felt as though his very stomach had dropped, and felt a painful pang in his left side that pulled him back, toward the room that he had come from. Jem did not ask for anything further, and that very expectation of disappointment was what drew Will back toward the bed, with little attention given to the door he closed behind him. Jem turned back then, confused at Will's change of heart, but much too wary to question him about it.

"I don't have to go," Will explained, a little bashfully, "if you don't want me to."

Jem watched him with an exhausted bemusement that seemed take to take from him all of his energy, yet he mustered strength enough to confirm the thing that they both so secretly desired, "I don't want you to."

He fell asleep soon after, and Will found that he could not leave even after Jem was unaware of his presence. Something about the way that his face looked as open in sleep as it did in waking brought out a new tenderness in Will that he did not know he had; and he sank into the chair next the bed in order to gaze upon it for a little longer. He had intended to leave the chamber as soon as he was sure that Jem would not wake again; but as he watched Jem's chest rise and fall slowly, more peaceful than anything he had ever seen, time seemed to slip away and soon after morning was peeking through the window. Will sat in the chair for the remainder of the morning, watching and wondering as Jem slept without a single cry or convulsion until his wake.

Will found that the next night, when Jem began his usual nightmares, neither Charlotte nor Henry came to assistance yet again. Will had promised himself that he would not return to the room again, as he knew that delving into things outside of his own responsibility were dangerous to those around him; but no one was going to Jem, and his piercing cries were eating away at Will to the point where they nearly replaced his mother's lullaby in his head and became an altogether new personal poltergeist. So Will went, as he had the night before, to Jem's room. This time when Jem woke he did not dissolve into a fit of coughing, but slumped back in his bed with what seemed to be an immediate need of sleep. Jem had been yet again confused at the fact that Will was comforting him, and Will was yet again bemused at the fact that he was the one to do the comforting. Despite this, Jem asked Will yet again if he could stay, and Will consented. Much like he had before, Will sat in the chair and waited for Jem to sleep, unable to leave the boy even in his unconsciousness.

This happened the night after; and the one after that.

Soon came the nights that Will drew toward Jem's chamber as a matter of habit rather than of struggle, and Jem no longer reacted with unsure hesitance at Will's presence. Jem would yell, Will would wake him, and then he would sleep once more under Will's watchful post. On the nights that Jem needed the drug, Will would gaze upon him in the aftermath and count his breaths, terrified that he would crumble from the force the attacks had shaken him with. Will soon became deft regarding the preparation of Jem's _yin fen_, and discovered that it mixed itself if it was left to gather in the basin at its own accord.

Each time, Will would inquire as to the level of Jem's pain, and he would answer on the scale of one to ten, turning a dangerous and complicated procedure into a matter of mere numbers. When Will stayed after Jem had fallen into slumber, he did not seize with any more night terrors, and the peace of it was something Will had come to enjoy in the early hours of the morning. The chair was an unforgiving resting place however, and Will often found himself slouching from the pain of it afterwards during training or other physical activity. One night, when his eyelids were heavy with coming sleep, Jem noticed Will rubbing his back uncomfortably in the chair.

"Will, you know you don't have to-" he broke off, flushing with the embarrassment of his own request. Will leant closer, misinterpreting it as ill-health, which only made Jem more uncomfortable.

"What is it? Are you in pain?" Will asked, his panic rising.

"No, but you are," Jem answered, his eyes tight with a worry that Will felt was bizarrely misplaced. Will ceased touching his back immediately, and leant into the chair with what he hoped was a more natural ease in order to sate Jem's concern for him, "Don't bother yourself with it, I've slept in things much worse than a chair."

"But you have not been sleeping, I can see it in your eyes," Jem insisted, his own eyes barely visible under the weight of his own exhaustion, "there isn't much sense in me using this bed alone, I'm sure you could fit."

Will would have scolded Jem for his ridiculous concern over his state, but was so taken aback by Jem's suggestion that he could do no more than stare with a slackened jaw. Jem was quite red then, his eyes downcast and face disconcerted, as though he didn't fully approve of what he was offering. Will had never shared a bed with another man before, nor a boy. When the new season had brought raging storms to their estate in Wales, Will had oftentimes crawled into Ella's bed, where she had consented to only the scarcest of comforts, occasionally petting his head and assuring him that he was safe. He had stopped that interaction when he was six however, and had since understood the idea of sharing a bed to be reserved for those who were married, bonded to one another in a way that was sacred and holy.

Was it normal in China to share beds with ones companions? Could Will even consider Jem his companion? The word seemed too cordial a one for what they had. Will barely spoke to Jem during the daytime, and the nights were often fever laced and hazy to the point of distortion. How could it be proper for two men to share a bed in any normal circumstance, let alone one wherein the two shared a relationship as strange as theirs?

Jem waited for Will's response with visible agitation, fighting to keep at attention despite the need for sleep pulling him toward the pillow beneath him. Will knew that he should deny Jem immediately, lest he truly resign himself to the Hell that awaited him, but found enough evil in him to ask, "Do you mean, the both of us sleeping together, in the same bed?"

Jem hesitated, but nodded his consent, looking toward the vast space that he always kept at his left; Will had noticed that Jem preferred to sleep on the East side of the bed, closest to the silver box that contained his _yin fen _on his bedside table.

"I do not think that it would be allowed, this chair is quite enough for me," Will said, unsure of whether he was afraid of the request itself or of his curiosity toward it. Jem seemed dissatisfied with the answer, though his good natured disposition stilled him from pressing Will further, and he curled into himself in anticipation of sleep.

The next few nights were different from the others. Jem refrained from speaking when it was not entirely necessary, and would turn away from Will at his first chance until morning came. He made no further requests for Will to stay, yet Will found himself remaining in his chair night after night despite this, fastened to his place by some invisible force that was beyond his control. The next time the coughing came, Jem had needed more of the _yin fen_ than ever before, and afterwards lay curled into his side at the command of a pain that had not yet left him. Long after the attack had ended, Jem remained in a state of suffering, and his newfound silence only enhanced the feelings of anxiety that Will felt for his safety.

Though Will had offered him yet more of the powder, Jem had refused him; and though he was not facing Will, he could tell that the pain remained by the shake of his thin shoulders. Jem's request to sleep beside one another returned to him as he noticed the way that Jem curled into the mattress facing the middle of the bed, as though waiting for the space to become occupied by someone else.

Jem seemed like a pebble in a stream amongst the twisted sheets of his bed; and it suddenly occurred to him that perhaps it was not Will's wellbeing that Jem was thinking of when he made the request, but his own. Jem alone in that bed was perhaps one of the most terribly lonely things Will had ever seen, and found that a large part of him was rife with the need to change it. Will wanted to _please_ him, this boy who was stalked by his own dreams, and comforted at arm's length like a patient in a nurses ward. Though he would never say it, Will knew that Jem needed his company more than he needed anything, but what Will had given him was not enough to really ease the pain at all.

With careful hesitation, Will rose from his seat, and padded his way to the far side of the expansive bed. Making sure that he did not disturb the mattress too greatly, Will pulled the blankets aside and slipped in with gratitude that he could not have anticipated until he felt the soft caress of the mattress below him. To lie down in a bed was almost euphoric, and Will felt his every muscle ache with the relief of release.

He let a sigh pass his lips and Jem heard him, his eyes drifting open in response. At the realization that Will was in the bed with him, they widened significantly, and he took a sharp inward breath as though he intended to comment. At the last minute however, he had a change of heart; and instead drew one of his pillows forward, so Will could rest his head against it as well. Will could feel his breath, sweetened from the powder, fall across his face when Jem exhaled. He found that its heat brought him closer and closer yet to the sleep that had evaded him for so long, until he was certain that it would finally find him.

Just before it did, Will felt something cool and rough settle into his palm. He opened his eyes to find that Jem had slipped his hand into Will's, though he seemed like he was already deeply asleep, his expression soft and mouth open slightly as his breathing slowed. Will felt a smile twitch across his lips, and he closed his fingers across the sharp points of Jem's knuckles until they were as warm as his. Sleep came after but no dreams with it, and for the first time in a long while Will woke to the sun already risen, with not a single memory lingering long enough to taint it.

**The institute is neither of their homes.**

**Jem is already dying; his help cannot kill him faster.**

**Last night was the first night he did not dream of his family.**

**He is poison, but one that brings Jem comfort.**

.

.

_Mae'r marw rwyf wedi galaru yn byw yma unwaith eto._

_._

"_Yào wàngjì zìjǐ de zǔxiān de, shì yào yīgè méiyǒu yuán xī, wú gēn shù"_

"_What does that mean?" Will asked tiredly, sinking his face further into the pillow that he and Jem shared, watching the boy through heavy lidded eyes. Jem looked even closer to sleep, though his eyes were filled with a sadness that kept him pensive, his fine face pulled tight with the feeling._

"_To forget one's ancestor's is to be a brook without a source, a tree without root" Jem answered quietly, his voice made thick with what sounded of guilt. Will's fingers tightened protectively over Jem's, an automatic reaction to any form of pain he experienced, and Jem smiled weakly in a reassurance that left Will cold. Jem was always holding Will's hand, and now it was Will fighting to keep them entwined as Jem tried to pull away from him and hide his face._  
"_It sounds so lovely," Will commented, attempting to keep Jem distracted enough so that he would remain where he was, where Will could see his face and watch over him. That was what he was there for was it not? To watch over him? Will told himself that it was so._  
_._

_._  
"_Yes," Jem agreed, his voice wistful now as well as sad, "all language is worded beautifully where I come from, chosen carefully so no amount of breath is wasted."_

_._  
Will remembered Jem's words clearly as he ran his fingers over the smooth stone resting in his palm. On the many nights that they had shared together, Jem had revealed to Will through the haze of sleep just how fervently he missed his country, and it was reflected during the daily happenings within the institute when the culture did not line up for him. Will had not noticed the way in which British culture eroded into Jem's Chinese one until they had begun sharing one another's company in the night time, and Jem allowed Will so see how greatly his travels had affected him. Jem told him stories about tea houses, fishing villages, silken kimonos and music that was played for feeling, rather than for perfection. Will even found himself describing rolling hillsides, smoking turrets and a language so wild it was something that felt as though it came from his stomach, rather than his head. Slowly, Will could feel his guard lowering, and was beginning to fill the empty space within with tales of great walls and white crested mountains; and with Jem, that was a presence that he could not deny.

Will examined the mass in his hand once again, marvelling at the milky wisps that clouded just under the green surface of the jade. Will had learnt that the Chinese traditionally valued Jade as a sign of purity and grace, and knew that soft jade in its Chinese translation, _Yu_, was often used in the names of children to describe their beauty. He had found the stone cast amongst a mess of others atop a frayed blanket on the fringe of East End.

He had been on his way back to the Institute when the man had called out to him, startling him to the point that he froze. The owner of the mat had unfortunately taken this as retail interest, and began flashing surreal items of jewellery in his direction and rattled off what seemed like improvised prices. The jewels and rings had all been incandescently striking, the shimmer of their stone or gleam of their band too perfect to be real. Sure enough, when Will had concentrated harder, a feathered tail had flickered out from under the merchant's cloak, and had disappeared just as swiftly. Will had been sure that there was an accord against a warlock tampering magically with his goods, but had not the time to consider taking action before his eyes locked onto the nondescript bulk of pale green that poked out shyly from under a rather unseemly onyx amulet.

"Which is that?" Will had asked, indicating to the stone. The merchant had picked it up, a look of doubt on his face, and waved Will away with his other hand dismissively, "is nothing but a piece of Jade, little master, not rightly cut either. There's rivers of it in China, I found this one floating along the gutter on Upper Thames street; had half a mind to leave it too."

Will had known for a fact that Jade was worth much more than the merchant was letting on, and guessed that the warlock hadn't taken the time to magically alter it yet, and was thus disinclined to sell it prematurely. Will had asked if he could hold the stone for a moment, and the merchant conceded with a look of distaste that confirmed Will's theory. He had turned the thing over in his hand slowly, noticing the way in which light seemed to catch within the stone, rather than pass through it. The colour had been so mild, something so delicate and soft that he was inevitably reminded of Jem. Something about the balance of the smoothness and contrastingly foggy composition brought the words again to Will's memory, _"all language is worded beautifully where I come from, chosen carefully so no amount of breath is wasted."_

Indeed, the composition of the stone was so careful and elegant, as though beauty was its language and it wasted not a single syllable. The fact that is was shaped roughly into the form of a fist had made Will like it even better, having something so gentle present such a strong front. Did Jem not do the same each day? Was he not a beautiful, gentle thing that hid the way his heritage was crumbling away behind a brave face? Will asked the merchant of his price, and the man had put up a considerable fight against Will's request, until Will pulled from his jacket 12 pounds, an amount that had the merchant's eyes popping from his skull with want. He sold the jade fist to Will happily after that, and Will declined his offer of additional emerald rings with a revulsion that was not effectively confined.

Will could hear Jem playing his violin in the next room now, as he held the fist tight and began to doubt his own actions more than ever before. Will had barely spoken to those who surrounded him at the institute, let alone given them anything. Would Jem be offended by the offering, Coming to the conclusion that the stone would only bring him the terrible pain of memory? Will knew all too well the burden of memory, and would not be surprised if Jem reacted negatively to the gift.

Steeling himself, Will entered the room and hesitated a short distance from where Jem was playing, by the large window. In the cast of the afternoon light, Will noticed that his hair seemed to have a brown sheen to it, as though the hair atop his head had begun to grow lighter than that of its inky black predecessor. His skin seemed to glow as he moved against the light and shadows danced across his face. The song he played was fast and sharp, darting between notes in chase of one another, and the intricacy of it made Will's breath catch in his throat. Jem's face was caught up in the chase, his brows sunken and jaw set in determination to keep up; Will found that his nerves overthrew him at the thought of disturbing Jem, and he set the stone down on the round table closest to Jem as silently as he could manage. After doing so, he darted from the room as fast as he could; making it out of site just as the music stopped, and Will heard the wood of the table scrape as Jem picked up the stone.

There was no screaming that night from Jem's room, though Will made his way there regardless out of habit. When he entered the room, Jem was curled away from the door, facing the other side of the bed in what looked to be expectation of Will's arrival. Will circled the bed bemusedly, and slipped into the sheets as he had done each night for many weeks, except this time James was asleep. His mouth was open slightly and his breathing remarkably even. One of his hands, to Will's astonishment, was curled around the jade stone, which was now attached to a thin chain about his neck. The stone rested just above his heart, and his thin fingers clutched it in his sleep like a prayer. At the sound of Will reaction to this, Jem's eyes slowly opened, and when they focused on him a smile crept across his lips.

"Did you find this for me Will?" Jem whispered, making no move to indicate but both of them knowing what he was referring to. He waited with burning eyes as Will floundered under them, embarrassment making him unwilling to confess. Slowly, bashfully, Will inclined his head and avoided Jem's gaze as he explained:

"It's jade, yes? Jade comes from China, so I thought that maybe when you miss your home it could help you remem-" Will was cut off in his ramblings however, as Jem, in a sudden motion, pulled Will towards him.

Will had not embraced another person in so long, that when Jem wound his arms around him, he momentarily forgot what the action meant. Jem held him so tightly that he could barely breathe, and pressed his face against Will's shoulder until his breath ran directly over his collarbone. Will took a good few moments to comprehend what was happening, but the temptation of a warm body pressed against his drove his own arms around Jem just as tightly. His every sensibility was imploring him to let go of the boy in his arms, yet every human instinct he had strived toward Jem's touch like a sinner to church, as every feeling was a euphoric clarification. Will buried his head against Jem's neck, blocking out the jarring messages, and instead replacing them with his steady heartbeat, which seemed to communicate its own messages of security and soft comfort. Jem thanked him in a whisper, the words hot and thick against the skin of Will's throat.

Will knew the embrace would have to end, but was sure beyond a shadow of doubt that he would not be the first to let go

.

**Jem is the only home this Institute can offer him.**  
**Jem is dying, it cannot be forgotten.**  
**Is this what family feels like?**  
**He is poison, but Jem is immune to him.**

.

.

_O ev'ry twll tywyll maent yn pwyso ymlaen at gyfarfod â mi;_

.

"How will my child complete his training when this stock of weapons is so negligible? I expect that I'd find better supply in a pawn house."

The sharp hiss of Benedict Lightwood's comment could be heard across every inch of the training room, and Will suspected that he had intended it so. He had been practising his rope climbing when the shadowhunter and his youngest son had entered the room, and Will guessed that, since he had not come down since, that they did not know he was present.

At their arrival, Will had pulled himself atop the great wooden rafter that the rope was fastened to, and tried to remain as quiet as possible when the entertainment began. Will recalled Henry explaining to him on many occasions that Benedict acted the way he did out of jealousy for Charlotte's position, and took every opportunity to undermine her authority and cut tears into the fabric of her contribution at clave gatherings. Charlotte bore this constant punishment with a perseverance that Will greatly admired, but despite this he always found himself inches from attack in Benedict's presence. This also contributed to the fact that he had placed himself in such a delicate hiding place, where he could not dislodge himself easily in the event of impassioned action.

Benedict knew that the institute had very only three young shadowhunters in training, one of those being Jessamine, who would have sooner eaten a knife then thrown it in practice. This was reflected in the small stock of weapons that the Institute had, as it was more than sufficient for he and Jem to share in training, and for Henry and Charlotte to take into battle. Such intricacies were sport for Benedict however, who seemed to take that opportunity to shake charlottes foundations once more, by pretending that he would ever intend to let his child train with Charlotte's.

The entire Lightwood family smoked at the nose when Will was near, excluding the emotionless Gideon, who Will knew to have no real opinions regarding anything important. His cruelty toward Tatiana and association with Charlotte had cut a rift between the Herondale and Lightwood family that Will felt might never be reconciled.

_If only they knew that I did all those things to protect their lives_, Will thought darkly, _of course those whose ruin I would revel in would be the ones who are safest from my curse…_

Benedict had also made it blatantly clear that he did not, and would never accept the legitimacy of Jem's condition. Charlotte's explanations for Jem's health had been cast aside as fancies, designed to cover over the reality of an opium addict. Benedict used the opium crisis in China as some form of conclusive evidence that Jem was a worthless addict, and condemned Charlotte's dedication of funds toward his _Yin Fen_ as a gross squandering of Clave property. Will had very nearly cracked his teeth with the effort to remain hidden when he had listened to these meetings, using transparency runes and shadowed corners to his full advantage. Charlotte and Henry's defence of Jem was ever and always supreme, and Will expected no less considering the kind person Jem was.

It was their ready defence of himself when Benedict drew him into question that truly astonished Will. Benedict, amongst many others, often denounced him as a half bred savage, withholding the worst attributes from his Welsh and mundane beginnings. Charlotte in particular would cast herself heartily into his defence, despite the fact that Will's actions gave her nothing to fight with. Her efforts would inevitably fall short of any substance, but the sincerity with which she did it seemed to open something raw and burning inside his chest, making it hard for him to breathe.

Will was trying not to breathe then as Benedict advanced on Charlotte, Gabriel following his steps nervously. Will could see Jem cleaning his bow at the far window, where a cloth and pail rested against the sill. Though he could most likely hear as well as Will could, from the ground he would have been hidden by a shelf of spears, and was probably not noted when Benedict entered. Charlotte seemed unaware of this as well, as she had followed Benedict in much in the same way that Gabriel had, though her features were set into a stony expectation, rather than a terrified one.

"If you had really intended to train Gabriel here, it is protocol that you should have alerted me prior to his arrival, so we could have ordered further stock." Charlotte said calmly, her tone unaffected.

"Your stock is deplorable," Benedict repeated, his voice poisonous and agitated. Gabriel started at his father's temper, probably having been roped into a scenario that he did not wish to become involved in. Will felt a flicker of sympathy for him, imagining how frustrating it would be to function as a piece in Benedict's tiresome games, but the feeling was shortly replaced with anger as the man leant forward, utilizing his superior height in order to intimidate Charlotte physically.

"Our stock is sufficient, if Gabriel wishes to train here, he can stand to share with William and James until more weapons can be transported from the Iron Sisters." Charlotte answered, as calmly as before, though she took a small step back in response to Benedict's advances. Gabriel seemed to be frightened by that concept, and pulled against his father's sleeve as though in protest. Benedict rested his palm against his crown affectionately, in a silent reassurance that this was merely his own trouble making. Benedict would have dropped dead at the idea that he should be involved in anything less than running this institute, and Will thought Gabriel rather dim-witted for having contemplated anything different. Jem was still adjusting the string of the bow in the corner of Will's eye, though he suspected that Jem was listening as attentively as he was.

"Why should Gabriel need to share his weapons? Surely his training would take priority over that of the Carstairs child." Benedict said haughtily, causing Charlotte to frown in confusion and Jem to startle where he was sitting at the mention of his own name.

"Why would you assume that Mr. Lightwood? James' training is coming further along than Gabriel's at this present time." At her explanation, Benedict gave a great huff of disapproval, and lowered his voice in order to emphasise his words even more than they had been already, "My son is a young shadowhunter, his training is your priority,"

"As is James', his training will equal your son's in importance, that is not in question," Charlotte insisted, her determination beginning to break through in her speech. Benedict laughed once, a sour sound, which caused Gabriel to flinch as look as though he was caught between wanting to flee and disappear.

"You do think yourself a saint, don't you?" Benedict growled, his eyes dark and threatening, "But there is nothing selfless in training that child. You are wasting valuable grain in order to farm spoiled meat, and you would call yourself fit to run this Institute?"

At his words, both Will and Charlotte shuddered with a revulsion that nearly de-perched Will and threw Charlotte from her footing. Will had prayed, for a brief moment, that Benedict's voice had not reached Jem; but he saw the boy's shoulders jolt from the edge of his vision, and when he looked properly, Jem was still, no longer attending to his bow.

Gabriel seemed as shocked by his father's foulness as they were, his eyes bright and wide as he looked upon his father as though he had never seen him before in his lifetime. Charlotte was at a loss of words for a considerable amount of time, her jaw slack and brows crashing into one another. Finally, the emotionlessness crossed over her features once more, though her next words were filled with enough hatred to burn Benedict's skin.

"What is unfortunate is the fact that blood as rancid as yours runs through your sons veins, and he can do nought about it. I will not train him, as long as you are his father, I will refuse." Benedict's eyes flew wide in rage, and he cast only a chaste look in the direction of his distraught son before reeling once again on Charlotte, his nostrils flaring.

"I would sooner allow my son to become a mundane than learn our rich history in this squaller, and you can expect every detail of your incompetence to be reported to Consul Wayland on the morrow." He spat, pulling Gabriel by his collar from the room.

"I suggest you try not to be murdered before that time," Charlotte replied, though quietly enough that Benedict did not hear in his departure, and the training room was left in a pregnant silence that seemed shockingly contrasted with Will's internal disruption. Charlotte lingered a few minutes longer, staring ahead in what seemed like disheartened thought, then turned on her heels and stalked from the room noisily. Though she made the act grand, Will did not miss the shaking of her shoulders as she walked, and wondered who he felt more sympathy for, her or Jem.

When she was gone Will began to wonder about the misjudgement of his own feelings. Benedict treated Jem as something worthless and spoiled, considering his life as something less than his. Was Will not doing the same by having sympathy for Jem's illness? By placing Jem above this mess and pitying him for his addiction, Will knew he was marginalising Jem just as potently as Benedict did, by viewing his life as something less than his own. Will could not imagine having his life viewed as something inferior to another's; undeniably, his life would be hollow and dank, but it would be just as long as any other. To have someone chide him for the disadvantage was at least something Jem could refute with determination and achievement; but there was no escape from sympathy, no way in which to dispute it, and Will suddenly realised that his pity rose not from any affection, but from a lack of respect.

Will watched as Jem waited to make sure that the room was deserted, before he rose from his position and approached the long swords that were hanging on the Western wall. In what seemed like a dejected daze, he lifted one from its rack and proceeded through the steps they had learnt the previous day in class with Henry. His movements were an exact re-enactment of what they had learnt, as Will knew Jem cared to listen more than what was ever asked of him. As he continued however, and his face began to glisten with sweat, a new presence seemed to become him that left Will bewildered. There was no defeat in his expression, or heaviness in the line of his shoulders to indicate that Benedict's words had burdened him. There was candour in his eyes as he swung the blade about him, and a passionate concentration for his activity that belayed every expectation Will had of him. His own preconceptions about Jem had narrowed his mind further than he ever imagined, and felt a great shame at his own faults. Jem may have been physically weakened by his drug, but his mind and spirit were as resilient as any other. Will's sympathy suddenly seemed foolish in that moment, when he knew that Jem was just as, if not more alive than Will would ever be, and deserved to be treated as such.

Will took a hold of the rope at its base, and carefully sailed down the thing with one hand behind him as he had been taught. He landed mere feet from where Jem was training, and took the boy at such surprise that he dropped his weapon. It reminded Will of their first interaction so potently that his next decision came to him in a way so obvious that it seemed as though it had already been waiting in the shadows of his mind for the right moment to be awakened. Jem's face fell, as he realised that Will must have heard Benedict's words as well, but had not the chance to come to any other conclusions.

"Will you become my _Parabatai?_" Will burst forth resolutely, holding out his palm as though he intended to strike a business venture.

**The institute is loyal to him, though he scorns it.**  
**Jem is dying, and tying himself to it seems appropriate.**  
**He may have some family yet.**  
**He is poison, but not only in his curse.**

.

.

_Y dyrchafaf fy llygaid i'r gromen deiliog eang,_

.

"Jessamine did not deserve what you did to her today," Jem said, without inflection. He said it as they darted through a smoking alley just past Upper Thames, and until then he had not spoken to Will all day long. Will, having become accustomed to the silence thus far, was a little startled to hear Jem's soft voice again, and took a moment to reply.

"Jessamine deserves more than she gets," he said, keeping his voice light-hearted and uncaring, thankful that Jem was walking ahead of him and not looking, "If she insists on hating shadowhunter men, I shall help her along by giving her good reason." Jem had chided him earlier that day when Will had seen fit to empty out Jessamine's gold powder canister into the sanctuary garden, and replaced it with flour. Jessamine had come screaming down the stairwell and into the dining room, where she had thrown about the most unladylike curses, all of them aimed squarely at Will.

He had sat by and let her finish, revelling in the stunned looks of those who shared the meal with him, and had finally concluded after her screeching with an optimistic smile that he enjoyed her impersonation of a banshee so much more, now that she had a face pale enough to match it. She had swung theatrically from the room in a fit of tears that had Charlotte in chase after her, and Jem had reacted only as far as to shoot him an unimpressed look across the table, before standing and walking silently from the room. For the remainder of the day Jem had supposedly been ignoring him, but Will was so used to being ignored that he had barely noticed it.

Will had refrained from telling Jem that the reason he had done it was due to the fact that he had overheard Jessamine referring to Jem as an invalid in conversation with Charlotte, who had scolded her as harshly as was appropriate. Will, however, had felt that it had not been enough.

Jem was never affected by these comments, and Will knew that even if he told him what Jessamine had said he would not have been angry at her. Jem forgave as easily as rain fell, but Will found that he was not so forgiving when it came to his _Parabatai_. The bond between them had come as a shock to everyone at the institute, most of all to Will, who had not expected to have been changed as much as he was.

The new rune above his heart seemed as though it was alive, always striving toward its sister rune with a force that made his chest tingle. He was more aware of Jem's movements than ever before, knowing without seeing that Jem was near, that he was hurting or that he was safe. It was something that Will had not been prepared for, and it made him irrationally protective of Jem, as his new runes projected a sense of possession over him. So Will had tricked Jessamine, to protect Jem, and had not told him, also to protect him. They had been sent out at sunset in search of an _Iblis_ demon that had been lingering about the docks for a few moons, and killing fisherman that had been sailing out in the night. Will had not expected Jem to speak to him then either, but Jem had, and Will guessed that he regretted it now.

Jem sighed heavily ahead, just as they broke from the streets and onto the old docks that shivered above the Thames like old bones. Jem stopped suddenly however, spotting two men hauling in their net by the edge of the pier, and pulled Will into the shadows of the closest alleyway; Will was sure that it formed part of the wall of a gutting station, due to the smell that lingered there. Jem seemed not to notice, his brow set and eyes determined. The silky black sheen of his hair had become completely brown in the past few weeks and was paling each day. Similarly, his inky eyes had what looked like flecks of lead floating near his iris, which had been multiplying for a quite a while. They both knew that the drugs were causing him to change, but the end result was something beyond them, and Will doubted that Jem wanted to find out. Jem rounded on him now, coming close enough that Will could not escape. Jem was slightly taller than him, and used it to his full advantage to keep him there.

"And you? You hate everyone, what reason do you have?" He asked, his voice still diplomatic despite his stance. Will stared at him, suddenly uncomfortable with Jem's waiting eyes on him, and grasped desperately for a way to dismantle himself from the question. What reason? Will knew very well his reason, but could not ever bring himself to tell Jem.

What could he tell Jem? He could lie, and suffer the guilt of hiding from his _Parabatai_ for not telling him of the curse; or he could confess, explaining that Jem's impending death was the sick saving grace for Will in his search for companionship. What he really wanted to tell Jem was that the only person he hated was himself, but he knew that wouldn't do either.

"I don't hate everyone," he muttered pathetically, avoiding Jem's gaze. Jem seemed confused by the answer, and took a step closer to Will as though he needed a better view of him.

"Then why treat people the way you do? I see how you stare after people when you know they can't see you. You care for them more than you'll ever let them know, and soon they won't allow you the chance to show them." Jem said sadly, that foolish concern for Will rising in him again.

"I don't need anyone else," Will rebuked quickly, instantly regretting it, as Jem's eyes grew wider in surprise. Will let his hair fall over his face to hide his blush, and wondered briefly whether it was possible for him to melt into the wall behind him and out of sight.

"Anyone apart from who… me?" Jem asked, his voice low, almost a whisper. Will did not answer, but kept his face hidden, so Jem continued, "Why did you ask me to be your _Parabatai?_"

Will's gaze shot up at him now in disbelief, and realised just how close he was, almost colliding heads in his movement, "Because I wanted to."

"But you are forever finding new ways to make others dislike you, it's as though you are afraid of affection," Jem's gaze dropped to the ground, his brows furrowing confusedly, "yet with me you are ever gentle, always kind and considerate."

Jem looked up at him again, and Will set his jaw, determined not give anything away. He cast his head slightly to the left, a familiar gesture that he made unconsciously whenever he was listening in class or deep in thought. It was one of Will's favourite things about Jem, but he cursed it then in his maddeningly uncomfortable situation, "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"What is there to misunderstand?" Will asked plainly, his face smooth as butter as Jem considered him.

"Why me? Of all the kindness you have, why do you give it all to me?" Jem said, this time a hint of inadequacy edging his voice. Will felt a small irritation at Jem's ignorance sting him.

_If he thinks that he is not worthy of kindness, _Will thought sourly, _I'll throttle him for his stupidity…_

"You're different from the others," Will offered lamely. Jem's face fell slightly, "Because of my illness?"

"No, because of _you,_" Will spluttered, made angry and defensive by Jem's assumption, "You, yourself. I've never another human so good and pure as you Jem, I did not think that they existed anymore," he felt his own emotions breaking through his careful barriers, though he no longer cared in his need to get the message through to Jem, "I am living proof that goodness is rare, and you are what reminds me that it can still be found. I need you for that." Will added the last and was taken by surprise when it came out. Jem was equally surprised, his face caught in the same expression as he processed Will's confession. Soon his features softened again, and he smiled more genuinely than Will had seen in days, "I need you too,"

Suddenly, Jem was coming closer and the space between them was diminishing quickly. Will began to panic as something entirely new passed over Jem's face that he had never seen there before. There was intensity in his eyes, intentionality in the way that he looked upon Will's lips, and Will found that his own were drawn to Jem's in automatic response. Will knew what Jem was going to do before he did it, but found that the anticipation alone was something so intoxicating that he found not the will power within him to even blink, let alone to move.

The heat of Jem's breath hit his mouth a second before his lips did, and in that moment Will was sure something in him exploded. The kiss was soft; almost bewildered as Jem leant his face against Will's, yet every nerve in his body seemed to detonate at the touch. Will had kissed girls before, at balls and in passing, meaningless actions that he'd exercised out of both boredom and the desperate need for intimacy. They were practiced; thought out interactions that had played to his every prediction, free of the frenzied fumbling that Will knew came with real romance. Will did not know what to call this kiss, he had never kissed another man before and it seemed to follow a different protocol. Jem's lips, though pliant, did not submit to his as a woman's might, nor did they overpower as he might have expected in his darkest thoughts; Jem's lips were an offering, and he waited with admirable patience as Will decided whether to receive them or not. A chorus of voices were thundering in his head, bellowing things about curses, impropriety and selfishness; but Will felt in every iota of his body as though he was being pulled to Jem, and the euphoria of joining with a person in a way he thought he never could was almost too much to bear.

The confliction was tearing him in two, so he closed his eyes tightly against it, and kissed Jem back with all he had in him, as a means of blocking it out. At the same time his hands found their way to Jem's sides, where they yanked him closer so their bodies collided and the breath was knocked out of both of them. Jem's mouth opened in the shock his action, and Will used it as an opportunity to take the kiss deeper, pressing his hand hard into the small of Jem's lower back to keep him close. Jem made a small sound of pleased surprise, and promptly tangled his fingers in Will's hair, pulling hard enough to make him moan. Their mouths met again and again, grasping for some form of rhythm, neither one knowing what to do but both willing to learn.

Having another body this close, this intimately, had Will's sensory system on overdrive. Jem tasted of sugar and smoke, and his skin smelt faintly of the lavender soap they used at the institute, masked with the scent of chimneys and the Thames from their travels. As his senses took control, his thoughts seemed to melt into visceral commands, given not in words but in surges of searing hot feeling; never before had Will experienced such a mental freedom, such a lack of restraint that he forgot completely that they were kissing behind a guttery in an alleyway. Jem said his name in between kisses, and Will found that he forgot almost everything.

It was at that unfortunate moment that a thin arm, twisting toward them like a fog made from soot, wrapped itself around Jem's ankle with a hiss. It pulled him from the alleyway without a second's notice, leaving one standing where before there had been two.

Will was dumbfounded for a few seconds, blinking into the newfound night air and wondering where he was again, before a voice ran out from the beyond the alleyway, in the midst of struggle' "I've found the _Iblis_ demon, and I could use some help if you're not busy!"

Will swore, and started after the voice. He was laughing despite himself, pulling his blessed dagger from the belt of his gear as he did so.

**Jem is his only home now.**  
**Jem is dying, and he is growing more and more afraid every day.**  
**He had found family through runes.**  
**He is poison..?**

.

.

_Ac eraill yn edrych i lawr yno i gyfarch mi;_

_._

The following months seemed to blur together in Will's memory, only accessible through scattered memories of meals, training, fighting, and Jem.

Will had not expected anything after their kiss at the dock, or rather he had not known whether he ought to expect anything; but what had happened on the water happened again that night in the deserted infirmary, and again in the training room the day after that; and in the library alcove; and in the attic; and in their room; and in the kitchen when they were hungry during the night… Will knew not how it happened each time; he and Jem would be swinging blades yards apart, or reading quietly on assignment, or lying beside one another in the darkness and whispering. Then, suddenly, Jem's lips would be flush with his own, and his body would respond as it always did in the offer of intimacy. They fell into one another always, neither ever really knowing who began it, but fighting over who would be the one forced to finish it. Time and time again Will felt and learnt, taking the intimacy to its limits, each discovering what felt good and what did not. The frenzied grasping in secluded spaces soon grew to a learned pattern, as they learnt one another's bodies as they knew their own. Will knew that touching Jem _here_ would make his knees weak, and that he was particularly ticklish _there_. They began to reach for one another more specifically, until Will no longer had to command his hands on where they should go.

Every now and then Jem would touch him in a way that was so very familiar to him that he would do so without seeming to realise, and rarely looked away from what he was reading or writing to act upon it. These instinctual caresses were the closest to home that Will had ever felt, and thoughts of Wales seemed to have almost lost their venom when they plagued him then, leaving only a lethargic sting in their wake.

It was bewilderingly joyful, this loving business. Will could not comprehend the concept that he could simply reach out and _touch _Jem if he so pleased, could finally give his arms in a form of comfort, even his lips when they were needed. Jem seemed to benefit from their intimacy in the like, he no longer woke in terror each night, though Will knew he was still haunted in his dreams nonetheless. Due to the need for secrecy, Jem had swiftly learnt the art of enduring in silence, whether it was pleasure or pain in need of enduring, and this had seemed to apply itself to his nightmares. Will could tell when the dreams came however, as Jem would awake with a start, his eyes wide and breath coming in the gasps of someone who might have previously been drowning. Will would roll to his side, and draw his _Parabatai_ close, his voice soft and hands soothing, until sleep finally returned to them again.

The thing that made their relationship so intoxicating for Will was the fact that it was hidden. Will kept Jem for himself, and was sure for a long time that he needed nothing else in the world to sustain him. The pressure to maintain discretion was upmost; after all, what was Will to Jem? A friend? Undeniably. _Parabatai?_ Most certainly. Brother? In a manner. Lover? Will barely knew the meaning of the word. Whatever they had, Will and Jem both knew that it was not proper. They were both men, and _Parabatai_ to make it all the worse, and they feared that if any of the others found out, they would inevitably lose the only thing either of them held dear; each other.

They were evasive sometimes, and other times they escaped by mere inches, as unexpected encounters called for fast explanations. Will had squeezed his mind of all its imagination, concocting dozens of reasonable clauses for swollen lips, bruised necks and unexplained absences. Jem was not so apt at deception, but was not as naturally suspected as Will, and often slipped by unquestioned. Will took his interrogations to their full advantage, often describing with relish lace curtained brothels, clouded ifrit dens and scarcely recalled opium hazes. Charlotte learnt quickly to reject these explanations, in a mind that she would rather _not_ know what Will had been up to.

Jem had learnt not to ask as well, on the nights that Will would wander the streets in the absence of sleep, and return in the early morning with skin freezing and hair curled from the damp. Jem seemed to wait for hours for him to return, always asleep when he did with a book propped against his stomach and head tilted back against the pillows. Will would right him, most always waking him, and they would follow the same path of lies and false acceptance. Will knew not where this need to flee and return came from, but he knew the prospect of giving himself fully to Jem still scared him beyond comprehension. He had chosen Jem for the fact that he had already been dying, and had reasoned that death at his hand could be a mercy from the suffering of the drug. Now that he had Jem, and knew the wonders of having another human being so close, Will could not bear the concept of Jem dying, not by his hand or by his _yin fen_.

Jem still woke to fits of coughing in the night time, and Will would extract from him a number between one and ten, which would transfer directly to the amount of the drug that Jem then took. Will knew that there would be bedlam should Charlotte come to assist Jem and discover that Will had been sleeping there with him, so the issue became one managed purely by the two of them, excluding the delicate inclusion of Sophie.

One evening, Will had exited the institute just after dinner, leaving Jem bedbound in the agony of withdrawal, as the drug had depleted and was in need of refilling. Charlotte and Henry had inquired about Jem's supply, and he had lied, assuring them that he had enough, that he did not need them to fetch it for him any longer. They had come under the false impression that Jem no longer suffered the terrible attacks that he had when he was younger, and Jem allowed them to believe it in an act of altruism that made Will almost steam with anger. Jem had tried to explain, on many occasions, that he wanted to remove his health from Charlotte and Henry's perspective of him, attempting to present his decision as a sort of selfish vanity. This had made Will much angrier, so Jem had given up altogether, instead asking Will if he would find the address of his supplier.

As a result of this, Will had ended up waiting outside an unfamiliar door, as the attendant rather took his time answering it.

When the entrance finally appeared behind the old wood, a familiar dark face had found its sleepy way around the frame, and was peering at Will rather whimsically. Warlock Bane had not changed in appearance by an inch since Will had last seen him, and Will felt himself immediately stupid for forgetting that of course he had not changed, for he was immortal. Something about his presence did not elude to the fact that he was a downworlder, and Will found that the foul sense of something unholy that most downworlders had did not lend itself to him.

"My, you've certainly grown," the warlock said, with a silken smile that made Will blush despite his earlier resolve to maintain his composure.

"You remember me?" He asked, astonished but determined not to show it.

"I do, the look on your face that night at the Nephillim Institute gave me reason to think that you did not want to be remembered," Mr. Bane recalled, his tone languid and almost fond, "so I made sure to extend extra effort in order _to_ remember it."  
This comment unsettled Will, when coupled with the intensity that was in his eyes. The warlock seemed to enjoy the reaction for its brief existence, "And from that night, you should know that I do not care for consultations with the nephillim, but if I am so coerced, said gathering is usually held inside your blessed church walls. How is it that you found me here?"

Will cast his gaze away, ashamed to admit that he had tampered with the Institute tracking records when he was not able to locate the previous address that Henry had obtained. At this fact, the warlock's eyebrows had risen right up to his hairline in interest, and sinister smile had curled its way across his face.

"Such disobedience, simply for my company; and I haven't even served you tea," He smirked, his voice ladled with sarcasm and challenging, just challenging Will to give him a reason to let him in.

"All I ask of you is the address of the ifrit den which you had previously given to Henry Branwell, as it has since then been lost." Will stated, squaring his jaw and setting his footing in an attempt to seem businesslike. This seemed to amuse the warlock more than anything had previously, and Will found that he had never felt quite so stupid in his life as he did standing in front of this particular man, whose features chided like a youth and eyes chided like an elder.

"I am hardly to blame for the forgetfulness of angel spawn, haven't you a rune for that?" Magnus asked haughtily, though he did not seem to desire an answer, as he began to close the door in dismissal. In a surge of desperation, Will thrust his foot into the space between the door and its frame, disallowing the interaction to end prematurely.

"Please, my associate is ill, and needs more of his supply immediately or he'll perish, just as you said." Will reasoned, his voice straining with the admission.

"I also recall saying that a shorter death could prove merciful to him. I am not a street directory, and I do not answer to shadowhunters for free, let alone shrunken ones." The warlock replied from behind the wood, and Will's foot seemed to fly out from the door without an ounce of instruction from him, and felt the magic almost sizzling through his nerves as he was moved magically from the doorway.

"Please, I can pay!" Will called out, sure that the door would shut and that would be the end of it. There was a pause however, and what sounded like a sigh floated around the doorway, before the wood swung aside once more and the warlock leant again the side of it, watching Will speculatively.

"What care you, little hunterling? What is James to you that could constitute this dogged behaviour?" Will wondered at the fact that, for a warlock who despised nephillim, Bane seemed to remember an awful lot about them, before choosing his answer selectively. "He is my _parabatai._"

Will knew not the expression that crossed his face when he answered, but a muscle twitched in the warlock's jaw, and his eyes brightened at his words. An understanding passed through them that seemed a thousand years practised, and Will knew now that it was foolish to think that he could keep secrets from anyone so learned as an immortal.

"But that is not all he is to you, is it?" Mr. Bane murmured knowingly, causing the very blood in Will's veins to solidify with terror. The warlock took in this reaction, and made a small noise of confirmation in the back of his throat. He looked at Will a moment longer, taking into careful consideration his eyes and features, before making another sound, one that was more of a realisation, and suddenly a slip of paper appeared in his palm, still smoking faintly from the magic that had delivered it.

"Very well, it just so happens that I am feeling generous today, so here is a replacement for the _lost_ address," he emphasised the word with obvious disbelief,

"but be sure to lather those memory runes across your body boy, because next time I will not be so forgiving."

"But what of the price?" Will asked, barely containing his desire to snatch the slip of paper from his fingers and take pace with it. The warlock waved him away once, his expression lazy and disinterested.

"Bother money, curiosity was my payment," he held the paper forward, but drew it back at the last second from Will's clutch, his eyes filled with trouble, "but as a sign of good will, I want you to do something for me."

Will swallowed nervously, and nodded his consent. The warlock grinned, his teeth gleaming against the tan of his skin. Will had initially thought Magnus and Jem to be quite similar in appearance, but knew now that he had been very much mistaken. Jem's features were soft and mild, reminding Will of snow laden mountains and ice; the sharp lines of Mr. Bane's face likened themselves more to heady summers and salt water. Jem was light and the warlock was dark, as different as two people could come, and Will wondered how he had ever been so blind.

"I want you to call me Magnus, I'd tell you that it was my Christian name, but you would probably find _that_ sacrilegious." He said, his tone nothing but serious.

Will was stunned by the confusion of the offer, but consented quickly in the excitement of having that address so close. Magnus seemed almost satisfied with this bargain, and watched Will leave with a slightly self-deprecating look of fulfilment on his face until Will was out of sight.

From that time onwards, Will would slip into the less visited streets of London every odd week, where things that were not human dwelled and hissed at the sight of his angel marks. Jem had come with him in the beginning, but had not the stomach for such endeavours. Seeing the petty addicts slumped against the gutters outside the dens never ceased to lose their effect on him, and Will knew that he was always comparing his addiction to theirs. Jem never complained of such things, but Will knew better than anyone when Jem was uncomfortable, and had forbade him from coming any longer. Will went on his own time and time again, so much that his order became expected from the kohl eyed woman who seemed to manage the den.

"See you've kept those pretty blue eyes until now, they'll look a treat with silver hair," she had mentioned one such visit, dropping the usual amount of yin fen into his palm as he handed her the money.

"Silver? What is going to happen to h- my eyes?" Will asked, already fearing that he might know the answer.

"They'll go a lovely shade of silver, to match the hair," the woman said, in a tone that implied that he should obviously know it, and tugged a strand of his hair within her reach lightly, "don't you know how it works shadowhunter? Once it all goes whiteward, you know it's really starting."

"Know that what is starting?" He said, his voice losing out to his fear. The woman turned away from him dismissively, but threw a smirk over her shoulder knowingly that sent shivers up his spine like ice, "That the end is starting, little nephilim."

The fear of his encounter with the den master had been surpassed only by an encounter with Jem mere days after he had returned, when he had found Jem hunched in their favourite alcove in the library on a Thursday afternoon. He had not woken for breakfast that morning, and Will had been inclined to let Jem rest and went without him; but Jem had not come to training later that day, nor the lessons after that, and when Will had gone to his room, Jem had not been there. He had been searching for short while before finally finding Jem in the library, and even then Jem had refused to turn at his arrival.

"James," Will had teased warningly, when Jem ignored him. Jem still did not respond, and so Will took further steps forward, raising his voice, "_Ke Jian Ming_."  
Jem shivered at the use of his old name, but did not turn when he said, "please Will, I just want to be alone at the moment." Will was unconvinced of this, knowing well that being alone had never brought him any solace, and came forward until he was able to place a hand on his shoulder bracingly.

"Are you ill? Do you need more?" Will asked, his worry rising to the forefront. Jem shook his head almost abhorrently, "No, I do not need more of the- please, don't concern yourself with my health for once, go do something like a normal adolescent."

"I was never much for the normal business, a brilliant mind cannot be contained by such meaningless considerations," Jem did not respond, and Will began to fret more intensely than before, "What is it Jem, I'll suffer more if you do not tell me."

Jem's shoulders shrank as he let out a long breath, and turned for the first time to Will in a while. When Will saw his face, it was as though his very heart had forgotten how to beat. Jem's hair had been steadily growing pale, just as the woman had predicted, until he'd feared that it might disappear altogether. It had seemed to settle very recently however, on a shade of silver that mimicked almost exactly the pallor of the powder he took.

Jem had been disgusted by it in the beginning, so Will had extended a special effort to assure Jem that he liked it, and in truth a part of him rather did. The colour appeared to flicker under any light, and truly seemed befitted to the image of an angel. Will often beseeched to him that there were worse colours for hair to change to, but this gave little comfort to him, and he had seemed to have merely accepted it as of late.

When Jem turned to him then, his hair had seemed to be glowing in the cast of the afternoon sun, and his eyes were exactly the same shade of molten. Jem's eyes had remained their natural black for so long, that Will had very nearly believed that they would never turn. If they did, Will had predicted that the silver shards at the centre of his eye would gradually spread outwards, until they engulfed the whole of his iris. What Will saw then was what he knew was an end result of the _yin fen's_ colour changing qualities, but it had happened over the course of merely a moon. His eyes were a glimmering silver as well as his hair now, but there was something different about the colour; there was a depth and movement in the eyes that was not evident in the hair. Will was regretful to discover that it made Jem's stare even more entrancing than it had been previously, but Will guessed that the silver accented what was already there, rather than caused it.

Jem watched him helplessly, his new eyes begging Will, for what? Explanation? Acceptance? Sympathy? Will had them all, but couldn't so much as bring himself to speak as he came to terms with what was presented before him.

"What do you think it means?" Jem asked, his voice small and surprisingly childlike. The words were chants in his head, carried with a sadistic glee that made him want to be sick where he stood, "_once it all goes whiteward, you know it's really starting."_

Will sank to his knees in front of the alcove, and buried his face in the juncture between Jem's neck and shoulder, so he was hiding his eyes from Jem much in the same way that Jem had been until then, "Nothing, it doesn't mean anything."

Will gritted his teeth as he said the words, hating himself for not being able to tell Jem the truth. He was a coward, because he knew that he was not doing it for Jem; he could no sooner admit the truth to Jem than he could to himself.

"It's doesn't feel right," Jem admitted, his voice finally breaking with the fear he was feeling. Will wound his arms around Jem and held him so tightly he knew it hurt, but Jem held him back as desperately.

_Nothing has been right lately… _Will thought miserably, but was unable to say so.

**Jem. **

**James. **

**Jian. **

**Jem is dying**

.

.

.

_The end is starting_

.

_Y llwyn lludw, llwch y llwyn yn unig yn fy nghartref._

**You've made it! Did you see how I slipped my favourite character in there a couple of times? Sneaky Magnus ;)**

**If you were wondering, the poem is an old Welsh folk song called "The Ash Grove"**

**Once again, sorry about the length, and I promise the plot will come back next chapter, but it needs the power of reviews to get there!**

**Sorry for typos, they're just grammatical ninjas aren't they? **

**Beta'd by the lovely Tash 3**

**Chloe :)**


	4. The Tiger

**Hi There!**

**So this follows the plot that was left in Chapter 2, and takes place the following day. I have some massive assessments coming up and I wanted to get this chapter to you before things got crazy again.**

**As always, enjoy, your reviews are amazing so _please_, keep them coming :)**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own the lovely Cassandra Clare's world nor her characters. She is the Infernal Devices queen, and I hail to her.**

_Voices rumbled around him, and a soft chair held him; but Will was scarcely aware of either._

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_._

The dining room had been cast into chaos that morning, when Charlotte had received urgent word from the clave that a pair of unlikely demons had been haunting the streets, and taking victims in the tens each night. The creatures were impossible to predict, as their pace had covered the lengths of Victoria Park to Chelsea Bridge in the space of two nights. A party had been arranged for departure that evening in order for the upmost amount of ground to be covered, and no man was to be spared.

"A _Devrak_ and a _Raum_, of all the Hellish combinations, why must it be those two?" Charlotte repeated for the third time, her cheeks flushed and brow permanently creased in deep concentration.

"I rather thought _Devrak's_ were messengers, not aggressors," Henry commented vaguely, his eyes thousands of miles away in what seemed like irrelevant thought.

"Perhaps the message it carries is one important enough to merit extra protection." Jem offered from the furthermost dining chair from Will. Will had measured their distance carefully upon his entry to the room, as the events of the previous night had left him with jarring feelings of fear and hurt, and he found that, as morning came, he could not bring himself to be close to Jem at all. The accused had not met his gaze once during the meeting, and it seemed as though Jem was under the same determination to avoid Will, but he did so with an unaffectedness that Will greatly envied.

Though he held his shoulders to a straight line, and set his chin high, Will noticed the fragility with which he did it. Jem's energy and attentiveness came on the force of his mere breath, and the simplest catch of dust in his throat had the power to cast all that proud air out of him. He was ever performing his elaborate scene to the other members of the institute, and only Will knew how very tired he was. He took a moment then when he thought all eyes were averted to allow his own to drop into a blink that lasted numerous moments longer than what was customary, before heaving them open with what seemed like considerable effort.

Will wanted to find for them an excuse to leave, a passable reason to remove Jem from this meaningless taxation and lead him to the sun bathed attic or alcove; Jem could rest his head in Will's lap and regain some precious stolen sleep, where Will could watch over him and pretend that the waiting world no longer existed outside of them. The lingering ache in Will's chest stayed him from embellishing the thought, and he cursed himself for fancying such a concept after what Jem had said to him the night before. Will also knew that Jem would never consent to such avoidance, as he grasped to the normalcy of his shadowhunter status as though his own sanity rested upon it. As he sat now, bracing himself against the table top with one subtly placed palm, Will knew that sense would be beyond him today.

"You think there is an agenda behind the creature's movements?" Charlotte asked Jem, the asinine sound of her nervous voice waking Will from his stupor. He glanced away from Jem quickly, focusing instead on the slightly uneven nature of the chandelier that hung above the great table. _I'll have to fix that_, Will pondered lethargically_, and I'll make a good show of it too,_ _maybe then Jem might find the motivation to look my way…_

"But what information could be so vital that an already highly poisonous demon requires an even more poisonous one to protect it?" Henry said, seemingly unaware that Charlotte had ever addressed Jem.

"One that will need to be extracted, before the _Devrak_ is slain," Charlotte clarified, turning her attention to Jessamine, who until now had held about as much presence as Will, "Will you be joining the search tonight Jessamine?"

The girl flicked a golden curl of hair from her face with one delicate finger, and considered Charlotte as though she were a foreign specimen before answering, "Shan't, I've awful allergies and the flowers have had me very nearly bed bound for the entirety of the spring."

Every attendant knew that such allergies were factitious, and that Jessamine was merely making her usual excuses to avoid contribution. Will wondered sometimes why the girl even came to these meetings, as her feet would permanently point to the door, and those strawberry lips never failed to find themselves soured by the topic of conversation. Will knew that if such things were proper, Jessamine would have packed her possessions and left the institute long ago, in search of the mundane life that existed outside of her reach. Will often contemplated leaving the institute himself, reassured that his inheritance would grant him a cottage somewhere on the southern coast twice over. It would be far from an impoverished lifestyle, free from the burdens of masks and withheld words; but Will could never imagine such a reality without Jem in it. They were bound by a partnership of so many levels, and Will had dreamed so frequently of he and Jem escaping together into the countryside. In his mind Will saw white stone walls, a secluded garden and smelt sea air. Will had never felt sand between his toes, and he wondered whether it would be soft like fine sugar, or thick like grain husk. He imagined being able to watch the waves from his own window, and beneath the sill Will would plant white jasmine for Jem, which would bloom in the night and lend its sweet scent on the ocean breeze to them. In the cast of afternoon sun Will imagined them sitting, as the small fireplace warmed the entire room with its glow. Jem would rest his shoulders against Will's chest, and sleep peacefully whilst Will read silently by his side.

The fact that Jem slept peacefully never failed to remind Will of the absurdity of his own concept. The idea that they could run away together was preposterous, and as undignified as these things came. The clave would sentence them to exile, and though Will cared little he was aware that Jem would mourn such a loss. Jem's drug could not be retrieved from the coast in any haste, nor could his body permit the patience for its shipment. The depiction of Jem no longer held the vibrancy of health for Will, as the image had begun over the past few weeks to fade into something that more accurately resembled reality. Jem was tired, and more tired still would he be if they locked themselves away from the rest of the world. Jem would not sleep peacefully, would not care for the sand or the night jasmine, would not register that these things should bring him joy. Jem would still be ill, and he would still be in constant pain, and Will would still not be able to do a thing about it.

He swallowed the thickness that had risen in his throat at the realisation, and Jem's words from the previous night floated so freely through his mind that he did not hear Charlotte until she had uttered his name for the fifth time. His gaze shot up to meet hers, and suddenly the pale washed walls and crashing waves were replaced by the familiar dining table, as four concerned faces stared at him lamely, excluding that of Jessamine, who was watching with evident interest.

"Are you well? You seem paler than the china Will, do you need to excuse yourself?" Charlotte asked kindly, her maddening concern barely registering in Will's muddled thought process. Jem was watching him then, the expression on his face caught between an attempt at indifference and badly hidden worry. Will sat straight in his chair as soon as piece of mind permitted him to do so, and met each stare with one as equally measured.

"Perhaps something was slipped into my whiskey last night at the Devil Tavern, it would not be the first time," Will shrugged, keeping his voice complacent and slightly under pronounced to provide effect. Charlotte's and Jem's faces both fell into similar expressions of distaste, but where Charlotte's was genuine, Jem's seemed aimed at something rather deeper than the mere excuse itself.

Henry held his gaze pensively, and answered in a serious tone that Will guessed he knew not the hilarity of, "You know, the drink itself has enough of an effect without tampering."

Will snorted, leaning back in his chair and flashing a grin that slid across his lips like branding iron, "Wise sentiment Henry, where were you last night when it could have been of use to me?"

Henry took this as indication that he should drop the issue completely, and he turned his attention back to Charlotte in preparations for the evenings search. Jem looked at him long enough that he and Will locked eyes for the first time that day, and Will saw something very close to resentment pass through Jem's eyes before he cast them away again. It took only a moment, but it hit Will with enough force to leave him breathless with shock, and he pitched his seat forward in the intention of remaining silent for the rest of the meeting.

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"_I do not carry any false assumptions that my illness will disappear in waiting; but I thought that, perhaps, I could."_

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Jem had been taken by sleep almost directly after having whispered those horrible words to Will, and it had been a long time before Will had even gathered in himself the sense to react. Jem had slept just the same as he did each night, yet Will had stared upon his face for hours as though he'd never seen it before in his life. He should have woken Jem and demanded explanation for his folly. He should have yelled or cried or shaken his _Parabatai_ until all the defeat had leaked out of him. But Will was too much of a coward to face that side of Jem, the dark part of him that was always longing for death to come faster. It scared Will more than anything, and he knew that wherever he had the chance to hide from it, he would. Instead, he had drawn Jem softly into his arms and buried his face in the sleeping boy's shoulder.

He had held Jem until first light, gasping for his breath and losing his own internal battle as tears fell from his face and onto Jem's warmed skin. At first light, Will had finally come to the conclusion that he could not look at Jem any longer for the pain it caused him, and had slipped from the bed silently. The streets had been peaceful in the pink light of morning, and Will had found that even this irritated him in his temper against Jem's betrayal, one that Will could not even bring himself to blame Jem for. Will knew that he only felt fear, and the same fear had prevented him from facing Jem for the entirety of the remaining day.

The search for the rogue demons had begun at dusk, and Will counted forty three shadowhunters in the sanctuary at delegation. Each pair of searchers was given a faction of London to scour, until the following day arrived and the search ended. Will and Jem had been given Kensington as their fraction, and the walk there had been as silent as Will had expected. Jem walked behind Will expressionlessly, as he did not know the way but did not want to say so. Will was determined not to break the silence, as he knew not what Jem's emotions would elicit in the way of conversation, but knew that he was not ready to discuss what had happened the previous evening. Kensington High Street was almost deserted come nightfall, and there was no sign of activity in the streets that they monitored.

As the night wore on, and the cold intensified, Will noticed that the steam from Jem's breath began to come unevenly, and his cane seemed to take more of his weight in his walk than it had before. Jem voiced no complaints, but Will knew he was still exhausted from his attack the night before, and if they had been on better terms Will might have suggested that Jem should not come on the search if he needed rest. But they were not on those terms, and now Jem was overexerting himself for the sake of some pride that Will could no longer tolerate.

They were skirting Kensington Park on their right, and Will noticed a large bandstand rising close by the side of the black lake. He headed toward it without a word, and though he was confused by the action, Jem followed him in ignorance of where exactly they were. The grass and water seemed to blend together in the darkness, and Jem did not notice the distinction in his step as his eyes were locked on Will. Just as the tip of his cane broke the surface of the water, Will shot forward and hauled Jem against his chest, so that his balance could align with Wills.

"By the Angel, _cariad_, don't step so carelessly." Will snapped, but did not take his hands from Jem's shoulders. Jem did not take them away as he asked, "What does _cariad_ mean?"

"It means that you're an idiot, didn't you apply a rune for night vision before we left?" Will asked irritably, regretting his former outburst. Jem frowned and cast his eyes down, a similar expression crossing his face, "I meant to, but-"

_He was too tired_, Will realised quickly, but had not the chance to comment as Jem pushed away from Will's grip hastily. Will let him go, but kept his arm tightly in order to lead Jem safely around the lake and into the bandstand. Jem was reluctant to accept this, questioning Will regarding why they were seeking it out.

"I'm exhausted Jem, can't we rest for a little while? I did not sleep as well as you last night," Will said, refusing to meet Jem's accusatory glance.

"Yes, I can imagine that another night on the streets should tire you," Jem replied calmly, and Will was attuned to Jem's blameless tones so that he recognised the hurt behind it. When they reached the stand, Will released Jem's arm just as he was removing it himself, and Will retreated to the far bench where he knew Jem could not see the expression on his face without the night vision rune.

"My adventures have never bothered you before James," Will teased, feeling the irrational need to defend himself from becoming the accused one in this conversation. Jem laughed once, a surprisingly bitter sound, and turned away from Will to lean against the railing with more need than Will knew he'd ever admit, "What adventures? I know not of your travels after dark Will, I'm afraid I don't know what you do, where you go, or - who you see."

At the last Will's attention was really caught, and in the dim he thought he saw Jem's shoulders shake with the very notion of his own words. Will came forward then, forgetting his pride and his resolve. He reached forward, as though he intended to comfort Jem, but dropped his hand shamefully before it made its mark.

"Surely you have more trust in me than that? You must," Will pleaded, his voice breaking slightly at the last. Will told Jem endless falsities about bars and brothels that he used as a safeguard between he and Jem. Though he used them as his weapon of defence, Will had hoped, deep down, that Jem knew them all to be lies, and simply pretended in order to sate Will's anxiety. Jem's shoulders rolled forward ever more, and his voice was very quiet when he answered, "You say so many things Will, I just don't know what is true and what isn't anymore."

Will's breath caught in his throat audibly, and the sound was so painful that Jem startled at it, but did not turn. Will grasped for something to say, something to remedy the situation, but Jem regained his tongue first, "Have you heard the story of Pang Cong and his King?"

When Will said weakly that he hadn't, Jem continued flatly, "It takes place during the era of the Zhao kingdom in China, when a great many wars had been finally coming to an end. The King sent his minister Pang Cong with his royal son back to his kingdom, where the son was to be held hostage in order to negotiate peace between the two warring fronts."

"Christ, what a fate for the Prince, at his father's hand no worse," Will interrupted, trying to make light of the story and failing. Jem cheeks pulled upwards in a sad smile, and he inclined his head slightly, "Sometimes cruelty is the only kindness to offer."

Will did not make comment again, and Jem furthered his story, "The King's minister was reluctant to accept the task, and when questioned, he countered his King with his own inquiry,

"He asked the king, 'If one person told you there was a tiger running in the street, would you believe it?' And the King replied that he would not. Then the minister asked, 'What if two people told you?' And the King replied, 'Well, I would have my doubts, but I might believe it.' In his final inquiry, the minister asked, 'So, what if three people told you that there is a tiger running in the streets?' And the King replied, 'Yes, I would believe it, it must be true if three people said it.'"

Jem paused in his story, and cast a small glance over his shoulder to ensure that Will was still listening, for he had yet to make a single sound in concentration, "The minister then went on the warn to warn the king that he and the royal Prince would be travelling to a palace much further from the King than the street, and that rumours of him would surely spread about his actions and spur untruths. The minister pleaded with the King to ignore these rumours, to which the King promised his rationality, and gave Pang Cong his trust.

"Soon after their departure however, the King's enemies began to spread rumours of the minister's disloyalty. After the war had truly ended, and peace was settled, the Prince and minister were freed from their confinement and returned to the kingdom of Wei. Here the King received his son with open arms, but refused to even admit the minister into his court, for the words of his enemies had tainted his mind and broken his vow."

"What do you want from me Jem?" Will asked him fiercely, the story ringing true despite his efforts to supress it, "I cannot give you more than I do."

Jem turned to him gravely, nothing but weariness in his eyes and he leant heavily against the railing, "If three people say there's a tiger running in the street Will, you believe it." He whispered, his voice trembling.

"Believe me," Will urged him passionately, finally finding the courage to take Jem by his waist and pull them into one another, "James, believe _me_."

Jem stumbled against him, seemingly unsure of whether to stay or fight from Will's grip. He stayed, "Believe you Will? _Who_ are you? What are you to me that I should believe you?"

Will hesitated, unable to think clearly with Jem's eyes on him so determinedly. Will did not know Jem to have the extremes of any emotion, and his presence was so intense that Will almost wanted to step back but forced himself to hold ground.

"I don't know, but you're everything to me; and that is the one thing that I can give you, because it is the only thing that I'm sure of in my life." Will replied, leaning forward and catching Jem's lips against his own before rebuttal could be had. Jem took a moment to yield, but eventually his lips opened in a great sigh, and he gave himself to Will as he always did, his hands finding their way to Will's face gently. Will wanted to kiss him until the entire night lost its meaning, but through his efforts Jem managed to whisper against Will's lips something that he neither understood nor cared to inquire after, _"__Gèrén kěyǐ yòng tā de yáchǐ wā tā de fénmù.__"_

It was the smell that pulled Will away from Jem. The unmistakable stench of spoiled meat and festering fruits hit both their noses at the same moment, causing them to break apart gagging and holding their wrinkled noses. The _Devrak_ demon slid it's way between the railings that Jem had been previously leant against, and it's spined mouth opened in a great hiss that sent the woodwork of the stand shivering. Will cast his seraph blade out from its sheath, naming it _Afriel, _and it burst alive, casting light over the hideous thing. Jem had already notched his bow with an arrow from his quiver, and had a direct shot of the _Devrak_.

"Don't shoot it, we need that message!" Will reminded him, but Jem had not intended to shoot the _Devrak_. He did not take his eyes off the demon as he called back to Will, "Where there's smoke-"

Just as he said it, a great white mass dropped from the roof and collided with Jem. He was knocked to the ground with a yell, and his arrow flew from the shock of the impact, hitting the woodwork a breath away from the _Devrak_ and startling it into flight. Will knew that the _Devrak_ was fast, too fast to hesitate before pursuit, but he was immediately drawn to the need of his _Parabatai_. Will drew a blessed dagger from his coat pocket, and did not take the correct amount of time to aim the knife as he thrust it after the fleeing dark form. He did not wait to check if he had hit it, but threw himself atop the wrestling mass that was taking place in front of him.

Jem was using the legs of his bow to prevent the _Raum_ demon from lashing it's barbed tentacles against his skin, and in its concentration to do so Will took the opportunity to run _Afriel_ through one of the demon's bulbous eyes. The creature's great mouth opened as it screamed in pain, black blood spurting from its eyes and covering Will's front in burning ichor. Will heard Jem hiss and knew that he'd felt some of it on his skin too, but the shot had not been in vain. The _Raum_ reeled away from Jem in agony, and when it turned to Will, its new aggressor, Jem had already regained his stance. An arrow was let from his bow just as Will swung the seraph blade once more, and though the _Raum_ deflected Will's advance at the sacrifice of a tentacle, Jem's arrow landed true and shot through the back of its head until Will could see the notch in the expanse of the monster's mouth.

"The _Devrak_ Will!" Jem yelled over the demons cries, his eyes bright and incisive, "I can handle this one,"

Without another moment to consider it, Will took off down the steps of the bandstand and followed the promising trail of black blood that the creature had left in its wake. The _Devrak_ demon was overturned by the edge of the water, its mouth opening and closing as blood pooled past its spined teeth. Will noticed a glint of metal and was satisfied to see his dagger poking out from the creatures hide, which seemed to have severed what constituted for its spine. The thing was dying, but no less poisonous, so Will pressed his seraph blade against its reeking body resolutely and spoke as viciously as he could muster, "What is your message?"

The demon spluttered and more blood splashed forward onto the grass, but Will held his ground without recoil. He asked the demon again, this time explaining to it just how painful its death would be otherwise, and the creature seemed to understand him this time. Will had to lean into it to hear, and in his concentration of the _devrak's_ choked words, he failed to comprehend the sound of approaching limbs, and a shout of warning from somewhere close by. The _Devrak_ barely finished it's sentence before the _Raum_ demon, sporting five arrows in its neck and one in its head, descended on the lesser demon and twisted it's sharp tentacles around the _Devrak's _head until it was decapitated completely. More blood shot forth and plastered Will's arms, but he had not the chance to react, as the_ Raum_ demon flicked out one of its long needled arms and caught Will by the side of the head.

The last thing Will remembered before the darkness descended were the final words the _Devrak_ had given him.

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_"She has arrived. The Dark Sisters have her."_

_****__"__Gèrén kěyǐ yòng tā de yáchǐ wā tā de fénmù.__" -_** "****A person can dig their grave with their teeth" (old Chinese saying,)**

_**"Cariad "- **_**Does not mean idiot ;)**

**If you were wondering, the story of the King and his minsiter is an old Chinese folktale, which guards against believing things which may not be true.**

**Thanks for reading! Drop me a line and let me know what you think, reviews make the world go 'round after all :D**

**Sorry for any typos, some letters just want to watch the world burn.**

**Beta'd by the gorgeous Tash 3**

**Chloe :)**


	5. Kubla Khan

**Oh hi! I haven't seen you in a while, how have you been?**

**This chapter covers the next week or two after the demon attack, and is split into fragments of Will's flimsy lucidity (that's the word of the chapter)**

**Before you begin, just one question: What are your favourite things? Mine are reviews. After reading please take a few seconds just to let me know what you think, even if it's only a few words (for those without accounts, you can do it anonymously). I will continue writing, but reviews are what encourage me to keep going, to please do me a solid and drop me a review..?**

**You're the best! Enjoy:**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own the infernal devices or the characters therein. Cassandra Clare has created them, and I am merely that jerk that messes with them while she's away (don't tell her)**

_If consciousness would bring more pain than what existed in darkness, Will never wanted to wake._

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For the longest time, Will drifted in and out of a formless reality, where all he felt was fire and all he saw was darkness. It was as though the blood cursing through his veins was scalding him from the inside out; just as it had when he had taken some of Jem's yin fen, excepting the fact that this feeling was composed purely of pain. There were small shimmering lights that danced on the edge of his vision, but they darted away whenever he tried to glimpse them, ever and always just out of reach. They were the only indication of his lucidity, or as close as he came to it. He wondered absentmindedly if he were dead, and this he decided must be his eternal punishment for his sins. Was it Hell? Will had expected something a little… Grander, and had not expected the _Inferno_ to be so literal. What he experienced was so impersonal and empty that he guessed that only the most wicked of souls would receive such a sentence; and he wished desperately that he could have had the chance to plead his case before the punishment was carried out. He wanted to scream, to cry or maybe even bleed for how potent his agony was, but even that vilification did not exist in this prison. All that seemed to exist were his thoughts and his pain, the source of which he knew to be universal. Every now and then he thought that he could hear distant voices, or the touch of something other than fire against his skin; But such instances were mere glimpses within a vast majority, and Will found that he could not concentrate on them for any great length of time.

As time passed by unmeasured, Will noticed that the darkness began to act differently, twisting and swirling in a way that was not consistent. The pain did not waver, but after what felt like a thousand years of paralysing torture, Will's mind began to wander from the feeling. The foulness was still there, but it formed a familiar scenery behind his thoughts, almost like the world behind a pane of glass. Memories were continuously flooding past, in great hurry, but Will found that he could not recall the night of the attack whatsoever, nor the events leading up to it. It was as though a fog rested upon the entire affair, and though Will could see vaguely its outlined form, he could not distinguish any detail beneath.

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Reality had finally begun to re-emerge in flashes of brilliance, mere flickers of intense feeling that left his mind reeling and his eyes stinging. The first time he woke he thought the brightness of the lights would strike him blind. There was chaos, so much was clear, and hands had been on every faculty of his person, so he was not sure where he ended and the hands began. The sound had been awful, a guttural ringing that had persisted so violently that Will had seriously considered his ears to be bleeding. He thought that perhaps the owners of the hands did not hear it, as their work continued unhindered, poking him _here_, pinching him _there_. They were speaking to him, pushing their voices above the screeching in an attempt to comfort him, but he could not distinguish the words in the midst of such a racket.

_God, Kill me; or block the source of that sound_, he had thought desperately, straining away from the burn their hands generated on his skin, _then I'll have some damned comfort._

A pair of hands suddenly emerged from the group, and the others seemed to melt away at its authority. Will had wondered then if he'd begun to hallucinate, as the fingers that burnt his skin now were a most dazzling shade of green, and they seemed to shimmer before Will as though precious emeralds were embedded under the surface of their skin. At their touch, new warmth spread through the fires of Will's chest, though this was a welcome feeling against the searing flame that engulfed the rest of his body. Will had focused on this feeling, and as he did everything began to slow, and the darkness came quickly to claim him again. As he was fading into sleep, the howling quietened, and just prior to the descent Will realised that the horrid sound had been his own screaming.

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His sleep after that was plagued with colour. With the soothing warmth had come vivid images, stunning dreams which left Will in awe. Rolling hillsides tumbled into stormy seas, and great birds of prey circled above desolate wastelands, the hue of which was such a scalding yellow that it imprinted against the lids of Will's eyes. Will knew the landscapes to have been conjured from his imagination, as their beauty left him dizzy with the feeling of something unnatural. Suddenly, the poem that had made little sense to him before came crashing back into his consciousness anew, and was accompanied by swirling images of greenery and rushing water.

_The sacred river, ran_

_Through caverns measureless to man__  
__Down to a sunless sea._

_And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,__  
__Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;__  
__And here were forests ancient as the hills,__  
__Enfolding sunny spots of greenery._

It was a beautiful, cataclysmic motion to observe, as Will flew through worlds more beautiful than he knew to be real. He was happy, almost deliriously, and wished with all he had that the moment would persevere forever. But soon clouds began to draw on his mind's horizon, and the words came to match them.

_A savage place! As holy and enchanted__  
__As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted__  
__By woman wailing for her demon-lover!__  
__And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,__  
__As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing-_

Will was drowning, spinning into the colours until he could no longer separate himself from the painted world around him, and only the touch of something very cool against his forehead broke him from his hallucination. The pressure pulled him above the images once again, and Will was suddenly aware that he was panting, straining to breathe as sweat blanched his body. He knew the hand that rested against him, would have known it anywhere, and was glad of Jem's company more than he had ever been in his life. Jem was whispering, and Will almost lost his words to the spinning colours in his effort to understand what was being said.

_Stay with me._

_Don't die._

_You aren't supposed to be the one dying._

_I love you. Stay._

_Will. I love you._

Will heard them, over and over, and wondered whether Jem was repeating them or whether they were echoing about his brain like solid objects. Jem did not tell Will that he loved him very often, as he knew the words to still have a sharp effect on Will, whose lingering guilt regarding the curse reached their upmost when such affection was expressed. Will had allowed himself one exception, one opportunity for intimacy that would compensate for a life of solitude, and he had done this at the cost of Jem's life. Will's guilt was a notch on his belt, a stitch in his coat. He wore his guilt over Jem on his body as a constant weight, and whenever Jem admitted his love for Will, the guilt all but crushed him. Even before Jem had first confessed his feelings to him, Will had known their nature, but somehow the verbalisation of such a thing forced Will from his personal denial, and replaced its numbing effect with new fear.

The first time, they had been wrapped amongst one another in bed one particularly cold spring morning, as Jem had been shivering and Will had pulled him in for warmth. Their kisses had been stiff and unyielding, as the chill stilled their lips and made the action clumsy. Once or twice they'd dissolved into laughter completely, as Will had proclaimed to Jem that his mouth was so numb that he could not tell if Jem was kissing him or not, and that the boy should tell him when he intended to do so, so Will could pretend to enjoy it. Jem had buried his smile against Will's neck, and breathed hot air onto his shoulder, the pleasure of which had made him shiver. Jem had pressed his lips against Will's neck once in response, and murmured absentmindedly, _"__Wǒ ài nǐ__," _

"What does that mean?" Will had asked, taking a hold of the back of Jem's head and leaning into him. Jem had not lifted his face when he'd replied, rather drily, "I think you know what it means, Will."

It had been as though a great stone had been dropped into his stomach, and suddenly his hands were pushing Jem away from him, and his chest was abruptly very empty of air. He fought to keep his demeanour levelled as Jem considered him, a sense of candour in his eyes that Will had never seen before. The intensity of it overwhelmed Will, and he instead observed the scarlet rug as he answered very quietly, "Then you are mistaken."

Jem sighed, as though he had expected such an answer, and cast his gaze mercifully through the blurred window, so Will could scrutinise him without having to endure the intensity of his eyes.

"I wish you could see through those barriers of yours clearly enough to know that my feelings are absolute," Jem said, "and I wish that they worked in the opposite sense, so that you could accept your own."

"I don't know what you're talking about" Will answered quickly, though none of his heart went into it. He moved to the edge of the bed and swung his legs over it, reaching for his coat and drawing it on. Jem made a sound, of something very close to frustration, and turned on Will again.

"Do not do this to me, Will. Not to me," Jem had implored him, desperation hinting in his voice, "Don't run from this. No matter how far you run, I'll still love you from where I'm sitting, nothing can change that."

Will had shuddered at the thought, stepping into his shoes and avoiding Jem's gaze, "It was my folly to allow this to happen, you overestimate your own feelings James."

Jem's eyebrows had shot up, and his expression changed into disbelief at Will's statement. He spoke to Will's back as he turned to leave, "Your allowance? To Hell with allowance Will, do I not control my own feelings, if anything?"

Will had stopped in his path, feeling as though his own guilt could be seen oozing down his chest and onto his shoes. Will wanted to tell Jem that he controlled Will more than he controlled anything, but was so afraid of Jem's vulnerability that he could not bring himself to answer. It was childish, the way he had been acting, and Will knew it, but the fact remained that Jem had been the first person to tell Will that they loved him since the death of his sister; and it made him so nervous that his nails were cutting his palms in his effort to hide his shaking. Jem waited, and when Will did not answer he had come forward and taken Will into his arms, fastening his hands at Will's chest and leaning his forehead into the base of Will's neck. Even now, when Will was withholding half his soul from him, Jem knew Will intimately enough to assume that he would not be able to look Jem in the eyes, so he held him from behind, and breathed soothing breath into Will's hair to calm him.

"Will," he began, tightening his arms around Will as further indication that he should listen, "you may deny me all you please. You may throw stones, carve rivers and burn bridges for all I care; But I will not take it back, do you understand? I love you, and I'm going to continue doing it, no matter how much of a pain you decide to be."

Will had leant his head back, against Jem's shoulder, and let an anguished moan pass his lips, "_Jem,_"

Jem had kissed his cheek, twice, and kept hold of him resolutely, "Quiet your brooding, you needn't return the sentiment, I already know the mutuality of our relationship."

Will smiled at this, involuntarily, and turned so that he and Jem were facing one another. Jem had kept his arms around Will, and was watching him with a knowing lilt to his lips that Will might have found charming in any other situation. In this one he had been only irritated.

"And what, might I ask, makes you think that I feel the same way?" Will asked him, cursing himself for being so predictably defiant, and cursing Jem for predicting it. Jem's smile turned slightly sour, and his gaze flittered to something just past Will's head.

"Because only a fool would consent to loving me," Jem answered plainly, drawing his gaze back to Will. Even in his sadness Jem was beautiful and fine, Will had reached a heavy hand and pressed his thumb gently to the corner of Jem's eye, exactly over the part where it curved upwards into flight. Jem pressed his lips against Will's palm.

"Do you think me a fool James?" Will asked.

"The largest," Jem had smirked, and pulled Will by his arms back into bed.

After that, Jem had only told him that he loved him on occasions scarce enough for Will to count on his fingers, and Will knew it was because Jem guessed that he did not like it. Will's aversion to it was pointless, but it felt as though Will's curse was the aching tooth within his and Jem's relationship, and by making such declarations Jem was prodding at the thing, pulling it ever closer to misplacement.

_I must truly be sick_, Will pondered,_ if he feels the need to tell me that now_…

.

.

The churning landscapes were beginning to dull when Will next floated into lucidity. He could hear voices, what seemed to be an argument taking place, somewhere past his feet. A deep voice, one that sounded as though it came from a throat lined with sharp stones, was attempting to convince a quiet voice, invariably Charlotte, of some point that he had not woken in time to hear.

"He is a shadowhunter, his duty to the Clave should override his own personal ailments, we must wake him," The deep voice insisted, its tone becoming rapidly impatient.

"Personal ailments? He has been poisoned by a _Raum_ demon, last we woke him he screamed until the moment he fell to sleep again, do you honestly think that this time will be any different? He is required his rest." Charlotte beseeched the stranger, her tone just as impatient.

"He has been unresponsive for a week, if we do not try to wake him now we may never find the chance." The deeper attendant said. There was a silence, wherein Will thought he heard Charlotte's breath halt, and then she spoke, with a voice like coming thunder, "What are you implying, Consul?"

"Charlotte, William was the last to interrogate the _Devrak_ demon, and as such he is our final living link to the information that it possessed," Will heard a shuffling of feet, and guessed that Consul Wayland had approached Charlotte, "if his mind is gone, then our link is lost, and there is no need to prolong his suffering."

Will's heart shuddered to a stop, and he heard Charlotte's violent inhalation to match the feeling. There was further movement, this time lighter, as Charlotte stepped back from the Consul with a disgusted hiss, "Is that all you care for, the information Will possesses?"

Consul Wayland sighed, a lingering sound, and his next explanation was carried on a softer note than it had before, "Please Charlotte, do try to see it from our perspective. It is a tragedy, when one of our kind dies, but it is part of who we are, and something we must accept. As such, we really must withhold our priorities, lest we dwindle away the nobility of what this boy died for."

"He is not _dead_, Consul, do you see him breathing? Look at him!" Charlotte burst forth, astonishing Will with her anger. The Consul waited for a moment, ever patient, and his tone was smooth as butter when he continued.

"Not yet, but he will be soon enough, just as James will be. You know this, so why do you hold onto these children so tightly?"

"Because they are _mine_," Charlotte persisted, such a possession in her tone that Will would have been brought to tears, had he known how to cry in his transcended state, "and that will never change, that is my priority."

The Consul reapproached Charlotte, and this time she did not retreat, "Steady, I am not your enemy. I have defended you against Benedict in every clave meeting and I will continue to do so."

"Because I am a Fairchild?" Charlotte asked.

"No, because you are a warrior, just not one that I have ever encountered before," Consul Wayland admitted. Will had not the time to consider this, as within his mind a great shimmering lake emerged, and he fell headlong into it.

.

.

Soon after his last bout of lucidity, the great landscapes disappeared completely, and the thick darkness returned once again. It swirled as endlessly as it had previously, but something about it seemed different to Will. It appeared to lack its usual depth, and Will found that the feel of it was not so punishing, and altogether breakable. He reached forward inquisitively; curious as to how far the fog persisted, and discovered that the further he strived, the lighter he felt. His pain receded, and what was left of him floated to the surface of the abyss, as an invisible force drove him upwards through a windless chasm.

Will knew when he had reached the surface. Instead of breaching the reverie in an upwards thrust, he felt as though he had been dropped from a great height, and was brought crashing back to the Earth like a fallen star. His entire body jolted with the feeling, and suddenly he reclaimed the knowledge of his own arms and feet. He shifted one finger, revelling in the control and ease of the motion, and listened as his own breath whistled two and fro through his chest. There were other sounds as well, something was dripping in the near distance, and someone else was drawing breath by his side. There was softness beneath him, a bed, and two pillows had been carefully fitted beneath his head and shoulders. Will realised with stunning clarity that he was cold, and without a shirt, but painless. His head was clearer than he could remember it, thrilling with the intricacies of its newfound consciousness. He opened his eyes slowly, and waited a considerable few moments before his vision found any distinction. The roof rested leagues above him in an arched sweep, and was dancing under the cool light of the witch stone that illuminated the infirmary. All the other beds stood empty, and there were tools of every nature piled atop his side table, which glinted dully with a fine covering of old blood. There was a stirring behind him, and Will turned his head to see Jem leant into a chair that he must have pushed right against the bed, rubbing his eyes and yawning quietly. Will took a stolen moment to appreciate the hue the witchlight cast upon Jem's skin, making it pale as milk, before Jem took his hands from his face and saw that Will was watching him.

His argentite eyes flew wide involuntarily, and Jem whispered his name, almost in asking. Will did not reply, but reached out his hand for Jem to take in between his own. Jem raised Wills fingers to his lips and kissed them, his eyes closing and brows furrowing with an emotion that he did not want Will to see, and whispered hollowly, "one to ten Will, which is it?"

Will laughed, and wondered at the wheezing sound of it, "that scale is dependent on where next your lips wander Jem,"

Jem smiled sadly, and lowered Will's hand to rest safely in between his own once more, away from his lips, an emotion far from happiness lingering in his eyes, "The only wandering I should do is to find Charlotte, so I can tell her that you've finally woken."

Will gave Jem's fingers a sudden squeeze, which seemed to rouse him somewhat, before Will responded; "Now she scarcely deserves my company, as she has not ministered by my bedside as you so diligently have. Stay with me, I want to show you my appreciation."

At that, Will reached his other arm forward, and pulled Jem down by his shoulder so that Will could kiss him, and Jem produced a sound of indignation that Will knew to be an empty threat. Jem was hesitant at first, but soon came to kiss Will with something harder and rather more desperate than he had before, clutching Will's face to his own and opening his mouth without encouragement. Giddy with his own sense of weightlessness, and assured by Jem's eager response, Will pulled Jem roughly so that he overbalanced, and fell on top of Will. He gasped rather loudly, and spoke Will's name in warning as Will ran his mouth against Jem's jaw and pretended not to hear him. When Will tried to right Jem against him, and align their hips, his _parabatai_ took firm hold of his hands to stop him from moving. Jem was stronger in this instance, and Will could not free his wrists from Jem's grip. Jem wore an expression reminiscent of a great realisation, and Will found that he had lost his breath somewhere in the struggle, and his forehead was sticky with pathetic exertion.

"Steady there, though you do not feel the pain, you are still very ill." Jem murmured, the dimness returning to his eyes, and released Will's hands only when he had lifted himself off the bed and back into his familiar seat. Will mourned his departure, but was still catching his breath and could scarcely argue.

"Apart from some loss of stamina," Will said between breaths, "I feel fantastic."

"That might be due to the fact that I've drawn eight painless runes on your arm just this morning," Jem offered, though his tone carried on it a hint of something rather more worrisome. Will cast his gaze about the room, considering the lack of light passing through the high windows, and the need for witchlight.

"What time is it?"

Jem considered this for a moment, "I'm not sure, three in the morning, perhaps?"

"You've been administering to me all night? Where have you found the time to rest yourself?" Will asked worriedly. Jem waved his concern away, though Will could see the dark circles gathering under his eyes, and the slant of his shoulders as he leant forward onto his knees.

"The runes I draw upon you keep fading, I think it has something to do with the _Raum_ poison, perhaps it has a denaturing effect on shadowhunter marks," Jem explained soberly, his eyes following the glowing patterns on the wall by Will's head, "I've had to watch them, otherwise they'd wane off after barely an hour of use. I'd assume that it was the case that all demon poison affected the power of the runes, but mine have remained as they should regardless of how much exposure to the _Yin Fen_ I endure."

Will did not like the sharp edge to Jem's voice as he pondered the discovery in relation to his own addiction, so Will altered the subject quickly, "How long have I been sleeping?"

Jem broke away from his thoughts, and returned his gaze to Will softly. The fickle light was making long streaks of his eyelashes; Will wanted very terribly to trace his way along the fine shadows, but felt that the opportunity for affection had long since passed him. Jem kept one of Will's hands in his own however, and the comfort of his absent touch was lulling Will ever closer to the sleep he had only previously escaped.

"It has been at least a week now, though I have a feeling that it may be more. You're lucky indeed that Charlotte was here to defend you, otherwise they'd have woken you much sooner." Jem said, fiddling with the Herondale ring that hung loosely around Will's index finger, and avoiding his eyes.

"What did they want from me?"

Still Jem would not look at him, and Will began to worry that he was hiding something. A thousand possibilities ran through his mind, was Jem ill? Was he eating? Was he in pain? Had he run out of _Yin Fen_? When last did he sleep? Jem did not look particularly dishevelled, though Will guessed that his own judgement would measure relatively to that of a stranger. To Will, Jem was always fragile, always tired and forever hiding his pain. These things no longer registered to him as symptoms of Jem's illness, but part of Jem himself. It was something that Jem seemed to hate and appreciate in equal measure, as it tainted Will's view of him as a person, but also kept Will's concerns for him at bay. Will knew that Jem preferred his illness forgotten to his appearance admired, and for that Will supposed he kept his opinion quiet. Will wondered if Jem thought himself handsome, and would have unthinkingly reassured him if he would believe such talk. Jem cast Will's compliments to scorn wherever they were given, as he often mistook them to be borne from a need to comfort him. Jem looked no worse than usual, but there was something waiting behind his drawn lips and averted eyes that he was determined not to reveal, and Will was going to extract it from him.

"Jem-" He began.

"The Clave wanted the message from the _Devrak_ demon; you were with it last before it was killed." Jem interrupted him, and Will had to take a moment to understand what they had been talking about previously. When he did, the fog began to settle on the edges of his vision again, as he tried to recall an event that he had forgotten. No matter how he strained against the mist, there was no clarity, and he could see nothing.

"Did I kill it?" He inquired genuinely. Jem's face fell into sharp angles, and he looked at Will properly in the dim light. There was confusion swirling about his eyes, mingling with that other something that he would not verbalise.

"By the Angel, no. Do you remember how you were injured?"

Will did not, so Jem worriedly enlightened him. When he was told that the demon had swung it's talons into Will's temple, he lifted his free hand curiously and was fascinated to find the soft press of gauze wrapped thrice above his eyebrows. Jem told him not to touch it, as it caused Will the most suffering when the painless runes wore off, and was taking an extraordinarily long time to heal considering the amount of _iratzes_ they had applied. Jem told him that the warlock Ragnor Fell had treated him, and given him a signature tisane that contained an ingredient that kept Will quiet for a few days, longer than any rune had.

"Opium," Will ejected bluntly, making Jem stop short in his explanation, "the extra ingredient is opium."

Jem's expression paled a little, "How can you be sure?"

Will laughed, delighting in the absurdity of such a mundane additive and still elated with the painlessness he was experiencing. The memories of the landscapes were indistinct now, and it seemed a trifle unlikely that they could have ever been so resplendent, but Will knew that an opium haze mixed with a poison one could merit strange results.

"I finally understand what Coleridge was spluttering about," Will smiled, knowing that Jem's disinterest in poetry would prevent him from understanding what Will meant. Jem shrugged Will's comment away quickly, though the prospect of the opium additive seemed to displease him significantly. Will thought he heard Jem mutter an insult most foul to the warlock under his breath, and he slid his fingers along Jem's arm in order to refocus his attention. Jem winced at the motion, and Will's own attention was caught instantly. Jem tried to pull away, and disguise his own reaction, but Will tightened his grip and used his other hand to push the sleeve of Jem's shirt up to the elbow. Jem's pale arm was covered in burns, which licked up his skin in many small, swirling motions. They were growing old, but against Jem's skin they still looked flushed and painful; Will felt hot anger welling in his chest at the thought that Jem had once again pushed his own health second. He saw more of them now that he was looking, though Jem had deceived him until now; poking just above his collar, hidden by a strategically placed lock of hair, one larger on the underside of his wrist. Will grunted disapprovingly, but let Jem go gently as he knew he had to.

"You're a fool, sitting here instead of regaining your strength. Why didn't you tell me you were burnt?" Will snapped, disallowing Jem to take his hand again. Jem let an impatient breath leave him, but did not anger at Will's accusation.

"You are burnt just as badly as I am, more so I imagine; and are you not putting yourself second by worrying about something as trivial as some ichor stains?" Jem challenged, his gaze levelled and jaw set. Will did not look to see how badly he was burnt; he did not want to break eye contact with Jem, in fear that the weight of his words would be lost, "It's not the same."

A flash of anger crossed Jem's face at this, but it was gone as soon as it had arrived. Something struck Will as familiar about that expression, and he caught a brief glimpse of what he thought to be recent memory; it was late, and he and Jem were standing alone in a bandstand, Jem's back turned to him as the anger faded then just as it did now. No sooner had the memory become distinct than it faded, back into the fog and out of Will's reach. He cursed himself silently, wanting to try harder but distracted by the argument at hand.

"Not the same? Can you even imagine how out of my mind I have been these past few days with useless worry for you? You were terrible Will, all you did was scream and sleep, I thought it would never end," Jem dropped his hands quickly, as though they had risen at their own accord and he had been taken aback by their aggression. He let his gaze drop again, allowing the mysterious depression to regain his composure "I may be dying Will, but you came closer to death than I ever have that night."

Will should have been afraid to hear such a confession, would have been had he been able to remember the night in question. Without such knowledge, the whole ordeal felt to him like the story of another Shadowhunter's brush with death, a stranger whose luck seemed to favour him. Will did not know what was causing this distress to Jem, but was growing far too tired to discern it now. He was frustrated, done in with Jem's foolish altruism, and satiated with enough confusion to last his lifetime. His own memory failed him, and he could not recall the one piece of information that they had saved him for; the _Devrak's_ message. It was waiting, floating amongst the fog and merrily teasing him with its transparency. Will found that he no longer wanted it found for its value, but he wanted to stamp it out of his memory so it could never taunt him again. Jem's secret was the final piece of frustration that tipped the scales of Will's threshold; and he found that he could not look at Jem any longer and hold his temper. He rolled away from Jem in his bed, and fastened his eyes closed as though it might solve the matter completely.

"Well I haven't died, have I?" He muttered lamely, hoping that Jem did not hear but knowing that he did. There was a distinct pause, and Will felt Jem scrutinising him. This made him even angrier, and he wondered briefly if his rune had worn off once more, for he was missing the weightlessness that he woke to.

"You are not indestructible Will. As it turns we're spun from the same fragile glass." Jem mused sullenly, and Will could hear him pick something up from the desk beside him. The sheets were drawn from Will's shoulders, and something cold pressed against the small of his back. He did not struggle as Jem carved a tingling rune onto his skin, but did not give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

"Perhaps that is why I see right through my own memories, if my mind is as clear as glass; you aren't drawing a painless rune," Will added suspiciously, almost turning his head but stopping himself at the last moment.

"It's a rune for sleep, you're starting to shake with exhaustion. As for your memories, Consul Wayland is going to insist that the Silent Brothers intervene in order to retrieve them." Jem answered, both of them shuddering at the concept. Almost immediately, Will's eyes felt heavy, and Jem drew the coverings back over him until they grazed his chin. Had Will been more in touch with his wits, he might have teased Jem for being so maternal, but all that came forth was a request, one that he would have never thought himself to ask, "Tell me a story, give me a memory to replace the ones I've lost."

Jem took a moment to think of one, but quietly began the tale of Fan Qi Liang, and his secret wife, Meng Jiang Nü. Fan Qi Liang had been sent to assist the construction of the Great Wall during the Quin dynasty. The Wall had stretched across mountains, further than the eye could follow at either turn, and granted the protection of its people against the great horrors that waited on the other side. The Wall took many years to build, as it was high, and it was years that Meng Jiang Nü waited without word of her husband's safety. Impatience soon overtook her however, and she travelled to the place where the Great Wall stood in order to find him for herself. Though she searched for days, she could not find Fan Qi Liang, and was eventually told that he had died during his work, and had disappeared into the brickwork labyrinth. Meng Jiang Nü was devastated, and the very force of her sorrow caused part of the Wall to crumble, bringing forth the bodies of many men with the rubble. Amongst them was her husband, and she then understood that in his struggle to build the barrier he fell to his death and became a part of the Wall itself, so it and he were one and the same. Though Meng Jiang Nü rued the Wall that had caused his death, she poured her blood with his so that she too could become a part of the union, and committed suicide shortly after.

Will strained against the demanding sleep in order to listen, and wondered why Jem was telling it as though he himself rued the Great Wall, and mustered enough strength to mumble, "What a misfortune, to lose her husband to something as spiritless as a stone wall."

Jem made a small sound, as though he knew Will would answer in such a way.

.

.

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"_It's not so hard to imagine, walls and barriers make ghosts of us all…"_

**And that was that.**

**If you were wondering, the poem Will finally understands is "Kubla Khan", by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Will only understands it in his hallucinations for two reasons: 1. It is a seriously whacked up poem, and takes a lot of reading to even grasp the most basic themes (I'm still trying to figure it out, so I'm no authority on it) and 2. Coleridge wrote Kubla Khan during an opium haze, and I thought it might be something Will would find funny, if he knew that.**

**The story of Meng Jiang Nü is one of the most famous Chinese stories regarding the construction of the Great Wall of China. It's main message is to remind people that many died in order to create the protective wall, and that it is something that must be respected.**

**Hope you enjoyed it, please oh please remember to review, because they form one of the three essential needs for human survival, along with water and bacon.**

**Sorry for any typos, I've asked them to get their crap and leave, but we're still arguing over who keeps the lava lamp, and I can tell you that I won't be the first to give in.**

**Beta'd by the lovely Tash **

**Chloe :)**


	6. Corinthians

**Yay, Chapter! (I'm as excited as you are)**_  
_

**This chapter very nearly killed me, because I've come down with a hybrid disease that I affectionately refer to as "Flu death plague", I'll let you know if it's anything new, and you guys can help me name it when they put me in quarantine and only give me my laptop (they'll give me my laptop, right?)**

**Sickness aside, I wanted to get a chapter to you guys now, because in three weeks I have my final (eep) exams, which are like, the most important thing ever and possibly the end of the world. Until they end, or the world does, I'm afraid I'll have to take a hiatus with this fic, but as soon as they end I'll bring you lovely people the next chapter. I'm sorry little petals, if I get the chance I'll start the next chapter, and maybe drop you an excerpt in the next few weeks...?**

**Forgive me? I'm sick so you have to.**

**Maybe reviews will magically grant me some extra time to write this chapter? (shameless manipulation)**

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, not even the word 'and'. Yep. That's taken. All characters within belong to Cassandra Clare, who is lucky enough to have these characters live inside her head AND and have red hair. What a life.**

_We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed;_

_~2 Corinthians 4: 8 – 9~_

_._

_The following weeks were hard and painful, Wills physical state being the least of it._

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Will spent five further days in the infirmary, balanced between Jem's_ iratzes_ and the various tisanes that Charlotte brought to his bedside. The mixtures were never exactly the same, and their variety was such that Will guessed Charlotte was making the recipes from her head each time, rather than by skill. Her efforts were exercised in the intention of easing Will's constant pain, but Will found them useless and oftentimes vulgar in taste; But Charlotte worried over him so, and made such a fuss with the drinks that Will could not bear to upset her, so he drank each and acted as though they sated his aches until she was gone and Jem could discreetly apply another _iratze_ to his skin.

If Jem was by his side day and night, he was not bettering Charlotte by much. The woman had barely given Will a moment of peace in days, her hands forever resting against his forehead to test his temperature, and her questions never ending. Jem had told him that when he informed Charlotte of Will's waking, she had cried from the relief, and had rushed to the infirmary, waiting from thence until Will had woken again, where she had cried once more. For such a strong woman, Charlotte had extended a champions effort in falling apart, and the unexpected emotion had overwhelmed Will in his stupor to the point that he could not look her in the face without fear of losing himself to his own desire to return the sentiment. As the days wore on, Charlotte seemed unable to restrain her affection towards him, and as such she crowded him nearly every moment, while he pretended and avoided her eyes.

Will also guessed that her determination was driven by the frustration of not being able to properly relieve Will's pain. Will's entire body ached constantly, down to his very bones, and the wound at his temple hurt him so sharply that sometimes his sight blurred with it. The _iratzes_ on his body faded with less haste then when he had first woken, but their effect remained insufficient. Charlotte had suggested that they re-employ Ragnor Fell to administer his signature remedy, but he and Jem had simultaneously refused; Jem out of disgust and Will in fear of what another opiate illusion would offer him, should his thoughts carry on them something more sinister than landscapes. Sophie changed his bandages thrice each day, claiming that it would help his wound to heal faster, and applied an acidic balm to the gauze before she wrapped it, in order to disinfect the area.

Though he and Jem barely found the chance to talk, Jem remained by his side, and drew an imaginative assortment of healing runes to Will's body that barely felt as though they were working. Agatha sent streams of vegetable soup into the infirmary that Will could not keep up with, and often, even with Jem's help, there were many lukewarm bowls decorating the tables about the room. Henry had come lumbering into the room victoriously at one time, brandishing what he claimed to be an improvement on Sophie's balm, which he then assured Will had ceased burning holes through the flask on the fourth batch. Will had to bite his tongue to bleeding in order to hide his delight in the banter that followed between Charlotte and Henry, who argued one another from the room and into the hallway regarding where exactly that concoction would go if it was not disposed of.

Thomas' contribution had come as bravery, when Charlotte had sent him to the residence of Magnus Bane in search of a magical remedy for Will's pain. He had come back mere hours later, holding gingerly in his hand a bottle of aged brandy, which Charlotte had muttered to angrily as she'd poured it down the drain, and Will and Jem laughed over it for hours afterwards. Even Jessamine had begrudgingly handed one of her many laced fans over to Jem, in order to cool Will during one of his many fevers.

The devotion of those in the institute moved Will to a point that was frightening, and the sour attitude that he slid onto his person in response to it caused him more sickness than the agony of his wounds. He could not spare even Jem his love, for he and his _Parabatai_ were alone so fleetingly, and when they were it was as though something left Jem's eyes and he became a quiet shadow of his usual self, unresponsive to Will's intrusions.

It was only later, when Will began to take walks through the institute and returned to his room, that Charlotte presented the reality of his situation to him hesitantly. She told him that the Clave was waiting patiently, but wondered after his memory of the night of the demon attack, and she stressed the importance of recalling the _Devrak's_ message. Jem told him later that night in bed that the Clave was waiting impatiently, whilst demanding that he remember the night of the attack, and stressed the importance of recalling the _Devrak's_ message. Will thought that these fragments of information were all well and good, but they did nothing for the foggy mist that shrouded his memory, and only fuelled his frustration when he tried to uncover any detail regarding the event. Henry had hypothesised that the _Raum_ demon had been chosen to accompany the _Devrak_ for the fact that its poison would cloud its victims memory, and this idea only angered Will more for the fact that it implied that he and Jem had played into a trap set by mindless hell serfs. Will knew fully that someone was controlling the entire thing, but was bitter in his constant pain, and used the whole affair as an excuse to remove himself from those who cared too well for him to be comfortable around them.

Jem was the only person he cared to keep near, but was unable to do so to any standard when Consul Wayland enlisted the Silent Brothers to investigate Will's mind. At their eerie arrival, Jem had been unable to maintain his composure, and Will knew the fear all too well to deny Jem his leave. Brother Enoch, of all the Brothers, took charge of the inspection, and Will spent hours curled amongst his sheets in useless defence, as Enoch entered his mind and tampered with things that were fragile, scattered, and not his. It felt almost as though Will's mind were merely wandering, as Enoch shuffled through memories that did not interest him, but the motion was thick and involuntary, like the space within Will's head was at its capacity and Enoch was pushing Will out.

Each memory still had a feeling attached to it, and Will would be released only to find that fresh tears were running down his face from a distant recollection, one that he had forgotten the sorrow of. Images as old as he could recall still had the power to hurt him, and Will felt that Enoch handled them with a carelessness that was punishing. Will tried to imagine such a reality as Jem had experienced during his first year at the institute, when the Brothers had entered his mind each and every day; the thought made him shudder, and sicken with guilt, as his own actions during that time took on new significance. What did it feel like to have ghosts lingering in your mind and in your shadow? Jem's absence during the Brother's visits soon seemed not only justified in Will's mind, but essential in order for him to gain any form of sanity regarding the situation.

The memories that the poison had stolen were the most potent to uncover, as the Brothers wondered and poked at a fog that Will quickly discovered shielded him from emotions that seared in his chest and spiked at his nerves with unpleasantness. The night came back to him over many visits, and in small flashes of feeling, rather than detail. One morning it was panic, as Jem toppled sideways into a black lake, and Will caught him. He was not meant to touch Jem, Why? What had he done to merit Jem's avoidance?

One Thursday afternoon it was cold realisation, as Jem stood away from him with shoulders bent and voice quiet. He'd lost Jem's trust, or he'd never had it? Jem was not mad, but he was defeated in a way that made Will's heart sink into his stomach with shame.

During the night, it was sad desire, as his hands gripped Jem's sides, and his tongue slid across Jem's lips desperately. He hadn't kissed Jem because he'd wanted to; he'd done it to hide, from what? Why did it hurt so much to kiss the boy he loved? The memory of Jem's touch left Will's cheeks hot, and he opened his eyes to realise that the memory was now shared with Brother Enoch, who hovered before him emotionlessly. At his panic, Enoch held a hand forward to silence him before he could speak, and communicated unaffectedly, _As mental conductors, the liberties we Brothers take exist outside all boundaries of privacy, and as such, it is our duty to maintain a policy of secrecy regarding the memories of our victims,_

_Victims, _the word sounded almost… predatory. Will wondered whether Enoch truly viewed his profession as an intrusive one, or was simply administering to Will's own preconceptions in his explanation. Enoch did not indulge his question however, and Will could have sworn that his next infiltration was carried on a greater force, so as to knock the thought right out of his brain. The memories closest to Will's poisoning were the most muddled, and the sessions after those left his temple inflamed to the point that he writhed with it until Jem returned to soothe him. The runes drawn by Jem were the most powerful to be offered to Will, and for that fact Jem was required to stay near him at all times, in order to keep Will healthy enough for the Silent Brothers to torture. Will had burns across his entire body, most markedly on his chest and upper arms, with a gaping wound on his head that made him dizzy more often than not. He was miserable, and when these ailments combined with his mental exhaustion, Will wanted nothing more than Jem's comfort as a means of escape from the awful reality he'd fallen into.

.

.

Jem's comfort, however, was not on offer.

.

.

Will's partner remained with him dutifully through the awful weeks of recovery, and provided and endless amount of runes to help Will along, but emotionally he remained as useless as one of Charlotte's improvised tisanes. He flatly refused to sleep in Will's bed at night, as they were too likely to be caught by Charlotte or Henry during their regular inquiries regarding his progress with the Silent Brothers, and this left them little chance to speak, let alone touch one another. They had not made love in little over a month, and though Will doubted he could survive it, he mourned Jem's distance. He was growing weary of being such a dolt with the other members of the institute, and wanted desperately to show someone how much he wanted them.

Will asked him often if he were repelled by Will's injury, and he replied time and time again that the notion of him caring for Will for once carried nothing repelling on it. Will would bid him to come closer, and at Will's touch the light in Jem's eyes would cloud over, and suddenly he would seem lost against Will, but not in any positive manner. Before Will could examine the phenomenon clearly however, Jem would pull away and retreat again, claiming possible penitence, should they be seen together. Will felt cold at the implication that their interaction should be viewed as shameful, but was in no position to incite an argument when he needed Jem so frequently for pain relief.

Will thought he understood when Enoch uncovered the details of their quarrel inside the bandstand one day during mental interrogation, but when he questioned Jem about it, he was told that such a thing was no longer important in the wake of Will's attack. As he regained his strength, Will took his impatience with Jem, and used it as retaliation against his recent behaviour. Will hid in areas of the institute that he had never showed Jem, like the loft in the clock tower, and stayed there for long periods of time, enduring the pain that came when the runes wore off and hoping that his actions would send the proper message to Jem. If Will was forced to feel Jem's absence, then Jem would feel Wills, in the only way that Will knew how. He could not block Jem out emotionally, as he feared that he'd go insane with the effort, but was accustomed to avoiding people whom he deemed worthy of such treatment, and found the activity altogether familiar to him.

His choice was effective, but not as he had intended it to be. A few nights later, Jem entered his room silently as Will was struggling to dress, and crossed the threshold with an intention that caused Will to freeze with his hand half raised in his shirt sleeve. Jem paid it no attention as he took Will's face into his palms and kissed him firmly, almost angrily. Will made a sound of startled approval, but was seemingly ignored as Jem pressed his tongue between Will's lips without ceremony. Will allowed Jem the liberty hastily, flicking his arms from the shirt sleeve in a sudden desire to pull Jem closer. Jem kissed him until Will was lightheaded with the need to breath. When he pulled his face away, Jem removed Will's shirt with a tenderness that belied his former passion, and gently pressed his lips to each and every burn on Will's body without further explanation. Will let his hands fall onto Jem's head, and closed his eyes as the warmth of Jem's mouth on his skin made him moan and shiver with long- awaited pleasure.

Will loved nothing more than he loved Jem's lips against his body as he did then, as the action communicated an ownership that differed from any other caress they shared. Their Parabatai runes bound them together in a way that made them completely accountable to one another, in body and mind. Will felt a strange ownership over Jem's body that he knew Jem felt in return, and when Jem touched him this way there was an incredible sense of something being given back to him; of returning home. It was a complete feeling, one that was incomparable to any other in Will's life, so when Will felt something wet slide down his chest and saw Jem's eyes fill silently with tears, he realised that something between them must be very wrong, if something as pure as this touch was hurting Jem so badly.

Will ran his fingers down Jem's cheeks, and attempted to lift his face. Jem had not made a single sound since his arrival, and still he remained mute as he snapped his face away from Will's gesture as though it burned him. He staggered to his feet, looking upon Will as though he had only just realised what he had done.

"Jem?" Will inquired, his voice faltering and pleading in his confusion. Jem ran his hand through his hair absently, as another tear fell down his face without acknowledgment. He shook his head as Will came closer, spun on his heels, and left the room as quickly as he'd come, leaving Will tingling, yearning, sinking and reeling with what had just occurred.

The truest irony occurred when, seconds later, Will's _iratze_ wore off.

.

.

From that point onwards, Jem refused to revisit the event whatsoever, remaining at Will's side to treat him but keeping his emotions hidden out of Will's reach. Will found that he had lost the energy to coax Jem in retaliation, and instead focused his efforts on regaining the missing piece of his memory that was giving the institute such terrible grief. From this victory Will irrationally hoped that his sorrows with Jem would somehow unravel, as he felt that in a case as messy as this, any answer would provide new clarity, no matter its relevance.

Affection for one another became almost non- existent, after Will had tried to kiss him and Jem's lips had been cold and unresponsive in a way that they had never been before. The feeling of rejection that had stirred in Will had been so potent that Jem thought his _iratze_ had worn off and offered to draw another on him to lessen his paling. In light of such a reaction, Will extended his wanderings, and Jem ceased asking him where he had gone when he returned; and they returned to a hollow coexistence day in and day out that left Will lost and awfully lonely.

This fragile tolerance was broken by something, the only thing that could have shaken Will from his stubborn resolve as easily as though it were made of sand; Jem had an attack. It was the first in weeks, and the worst in months. Will had been in the midst of his final interrogation with Brother Enoch, as the former Shadowhunter sliced at the heady fog over the _Devrak's_ words until they finally, mercifully dispersed into the indistinct rumblings of coherency. The distant thunder of many feet returned to Will, as the _Raum_ demon advanced on him, and just below that sound there was the guttural hissing, as the _Devrak_ drew its final breath.

_She has arrived. The Dark Sisters have her._

Will burst awake from the memory with his cheeks fuming and ears ringing with triumph, as Brother Enoch watched him with what he thought was the closest equivalent to smugness that the Silent Brothers possessed.

_Is it over, Enoch?_ Will wondered wearily, though the exhaustion was a welcome one in light of such progress. He felt a temporary affection for the robed poltergeist, as their mutual determination to uncover the memories had given Will a greater sense of purpose, and granted him a companionship to replace that which Jem had taken from him. Will truly thought himself sad for reveling in the company of a Silent Brother, but was too tired to linger on such things, or consider the concept that Enoch was listening to every whimsy.

_It is done, young Herondale_, Enoch returned evenly, as though he'd heard nothing, but severed their connection hastily as his attention was caught on an intrusive sound from the hallway. It was a low, scraping sound that sent Will's heart flying into his throat with familiarity, and renewed dread; Jem was coughing. Will abandoned his guest without decency, flying through the hallway until he reached Jem's room, where Charlotte, Henry and Sophie were circled around something like birds of prey.

Jem was caught between them on the ground, his head heaving and shoulders shaking to the point of convulsion. Will did not know if he'd ever seen Jem this ill before, but knew that the tight circle of hot bodies around him would not do him well in any situation. Jem pitched forward suddenly, and sent a stream of spattered blood across the runner, which was thankfully already a carefully selected shade of scarlet. The others swarmed closer, their hands finding his shoulders as a useless attempt at comfort, as though they knew their hands should go somewhere but where improvising the place. Will could not believe that Charlotte and Henry had fallen so out of touch with this type of ordeal, though they had not been Jem's caretakers for over five years. Will remembered clearly his first experience of Jem's coughing, and knew that such a thing could never be forgotten, why should it be any different for them?

"Will,"

His thoughts were stripped away at the way his name was spoken. Jem's eyes were on him now, clouded by silvery lashes and bright as starlight. The others spun in their positions to see him too, though Will scarcely noticed them as he locked eyes with Jem. His name had been spoken with the absence of breath, and was thickened to bursting with an intense need and relief that Will had forgotten the sound of in the past few weeks. What had been in his voice was evident in his face now, with his brows pulled suddenly slack and shoulders sunken with the assurance of Will's presence. Jem needed him, wanted him, and Will was struggling to come to terms with just how gloriously happy such a horrid thing could make him. The others looked relieved as well, seemingly confident that Will would know what to do, and that expectation brought him crashing back to the task at hand.

"Has he had some of the drug?" Will asked, repeating it when Jem buckled over once more and they ignored his question in panic. Sophie replied with glistening eyes that he had, but it'd done nothing to stop the blood.

"And what makes you think that crowding him will help? Get away, all of you, and allow him some breathing space for God's sake." Will snapped, striding forward as they all stepped out of his way immediately. Jem reached for Will as he came near, and Will tried to ignore the way his heart skipped when he did. The look in Jem's eyes was dangerously distant, and Will knew him well enough to guess that, were he lucid, Jem would have wanted the others gone before he said something that he greatly regretted later.

Will gave Jem his hand, and shooed the others impatiently; and they conceded with admirable patience as they left the room, allowing Will and Jem to be alone. Jem was gasping, and so Will helped him from the floor and into the comfort of his bed, where he whispered soft things in his language that Will knew he'd rather not understand, and moaned as the drug began to take its burning effect. Will was tasked with lifting the blood from the runner, but soon discovered that it had been left too long to clean fully, and there was a darkened pattern left in the fabric as a reminder of Jem's pain. This was not an uncommon mistake, but Will hated to leave evidence of Jem's illness behind for Jem to find later.

He was forced to abandon the task however, when he heard Jem beckoning him weakly from the bed, his voice composed merely of pain and fear. Will went to him, drew him close in a way that he hadn't in a while, and settled so for hours, until the sun was rising and Jem was sleeping. Will did not doze for a second, holding to Jem with all his might and savouring the intimacy; because he knew, with a heavy heart, that it would not last much longer.

.

.

The Dark Sisters were a pair of warlocks who had a particularly bad record of causing the Clave magical grief. They had a long standing history of dark practices, most of which the Shadowhunters had only found traces of after their swift departure. They were elusive, and as such it took several longs days for the Clave to locate all possible locations from which they operated. Another task force was assembled, much like the one that had been used during the demon hunt, but this time Jem was not well enough to attend. His last fit had left him bedridden with aftershocks, which gave Will the suspicion that he had not been taking his _Yin Fen_ at all these past few weeks, though he had promised Will that he would do so.

Will spent his own energies hiding his lack of recovery, and attending his own runes to ease the process. On the night of the search he insisted that he was fit and strong, and withheld that since he was the one to retrieve the crucial message from the _Devrak_ demon, he should at least be involved in the strategic planning that followed.

"Fit, is he? You'd do well to prod the side of his head with that stele, and see if he doesn't pass out," Gabriel snarled at Charlotte during the negotiations, "He's a liability to a delicate situation."

Gabriel had changed very much since Will had last seen him. He no longer cowered in his father's shadow, but rather huffed and puffed from its safety as though he were the brute reincarnated. Will wondered when exactly he had grown into his new opinions, but guessed that they followed the Lightwood family code closely enough that the nature of his eversion to Will was directly inherited.

Gideon stood by his father and brother as the exception, his eyes dark and arms crossed in close guard of his own emotions. Such a handsome family they were, but while Gabriel and Benedict's looks were soured by words, Gideon's were masked by silence. Will knew that Gideon was only returning briefly from his work in Madrid, but guessed by the look of him that he'd had little choice on the matter.

"Will risked his life and has suffered in health in order to obtain information for this Clave, and you dare to use it against him?" Charlotte threw in response to Gabriel's trouble making. Will appreciated her loyalty, but also wanted to hit her underside her head with one of the great maps for indulging Gabriel's stupidity.

"If he had not been so rash in his actions when he killed the demons, we may have been able to track their movements and be free of this scouting rubbish!" Gabriel said, indicating violently to the charters scattered about the great table. The truth of it was that they had used the demons movements, as their trail of death lead the shadowhunters to suspect certain locations in the very north eastern districts of London. There were countless warlock residents in that area, but which of these was the offending one escaped them. For this reason they were being split into search parties just like they had for the demons, and this was what caused Gabriel such unhappiness.

Will tried to keep his thoughts leveled but couldn't help imagining that the only thing that could incite such anger from a Lightwood would be the jealously of Will outperforming them in a Clave matter. Such a thing would be seen as a disgrace to Benedict, and as Gabriel seemed to be copying his father so diligently, Will guessed that he would feel the same.

"Will acted exactly as was required of him. He completed the task outlined in his objective, disposed of the demons and lived to return the information to us," Charlotte continued determinedly, "what more would you ask of him?"

"That's enough," Consul Wayland cut in harshly, as he noticed that Will had been preparing to become involved in the argument as well, "Frankly Charlotte, I agree with Gabriel on the opinion that William should not attend this mission when his health is not fully restored," he held up a hand to silence Charlotte as she stepped forward, "in saying so, I regret my own hypocrisy when I insist that he come along nonetheless, as our numbers are low enough without another member taking to their bed instead of the streets."

"James Carstairs is not coming," Benedict hissed, rebellion in the very line of his shoulders, "why should he be excepted?"

The Consul sighed as each member of the London institute stood to attack on Jem's behalf, and formulated an answer before any of them could speak, "If you wish to analyse my logic so meticulously, Benedict, then James Carstairs will come with you."

Benedict shuddered at the thought, as did Will. Someone as graceful and true as Jem had no justice sparring with a snake like Benedict, and Will would have sooner taken Jessamine as a wife than allowed such a thing to occur. Benedict balled his fists angrily, but refuted his former words and conceded defeat.

"The matter is settled then. Though Gabriel, your concern for William's health is truly moving, despite its poor execution," Consul Wayland added, glancing sideways at Charlotte in a way that made Will sure that he did it for her. Gabriel spluttered and flushed with the accusation and, for a moment, Will forgot all his troubles and lost himself in the beautiful amusement that it granted him.

.

.

Before the party left, Will went to bid Jem goodbye.

He seemed at first glance as though he were asleep, but soon realised that it was Will entering and opened his eyes. Their former reconciliation had, as Will had guessed it would, faded when Jem had awoken from the attack. Immediately, the coldness had returned and Will had been pushed to the outer reaches of Jem's comfort once more. Now there was little emotion in Jem's stare, as he regarded Will's gear with badly restrained longing. It was not Jem's choice to stay and rest, and he had fought the decision with more determination than Will had estimated of him.

Since then, Jem had studiously ignored Will in the hope that it would somehow alter the choice, but such things no longer applied. Between them Will and Jem had an unspoken rule, before battle, there was goodbye, and during it all former arguments were put aside.

"They're letting you go." It was a statement, carried on unsubtle disapproval, but none of it reached Jem's expression. Will ignored him, for under the cast of witchlight Jem seemed ghostly and stricken of his usual colour. He came to kneel at the edge of Jem's bed, and rested his palm against Jem's forehead gently.

"How are you feeling?" Will asked. Jem pulled Will's hand from his face but, to Will's silent delight, held onto it afterwards.

"I feel frustrated, because you won't listen to reason. How can I possibly obey your commands to rest when you completely disregard mine?" He replied haughtily, his eyebrows rising in expectation of a quarrel.

Will didn't give him one, "Double standards are the least of the worries in our relationship Jem."

Jem's expression sank into something awfully pained, so Will continued quickly, keeping his hand when he tried to remove himself, "I'm sorry, let's put it aside for now, alright? Aren't you going to bid me goodbye?"

"You shouldn't be going." Jem repeated firmly, his jaw set and eyes on the roof.

"I'll be fine, I'm always fine, and you know that." Will implored him, leaning in so that he was forcibly within Jem's field of vision, which Jem consented to unhappily.

"Yes, until you're not," Jem said, his gaze dropping as he traced one of the old burns on Will's wrist lightly. He took a moment to think, then let a great breath leave him, one which sounded like defeat, "I won't forgive you if you get yourself killed, you know it won't be long before I come to find you."

"Don't be morbid," Will chided, ducking forward and kissing Jem hard on the mouth. Jem acted as Will had expected, with still lips and an emptiness that almost made him want to pull away right then. But Will was tired, sick of all the words and withheld feelings that were coming between them; and he wasn't leaving without something more from this maddening boy.

Will kissed him again, this time forcefully, taking rather than asking. Jem gasped indignantly, and pushed Will back by his shoulders. Will allowed this, but only by inches, and used his most threatening tone when he said, "Show me more, James, or I'm going to find it."

Will smashed their teeth together when he kissed Jem again, for he did so too violently. They both moaned from the stinging, and a small part of Will worried after what this might do to Jem's health; but the rest of him was angry, just too angry to stop before he was validated. Jem's pushes gradually relented as Will's lips worked against his, and he seemed to come to the conclusion that cooperation was his best ally.

He drew Will forward and opened his mouth in the same motion, kissing Will with enough passion to undo weeks of abstinence. The warmth that lanced through Will very nearly made him forget what he had come for, but somehow he managed to lift away from the embrace, but not without biting Jem's bottom lip in his path. Jem strove after him a little, sending waves of satisfaction though Will's chest, and his eyes were almost black when he opened them.

"_Mizpah_," Jem whispered, letting his fingers linger on Will's arm a second longer before he drew them away.

"I love you," Will stated, and swept from the room in a frazzled mess before Jem could reply.

.

.

Will, Henry and Thomas had been assigned to a cottage on St. Peters Street, in Bethnal. Every member of the council was well aware that this location was not the one that they were looking for, and Will guessed that they had been assigned it because, though he was in good favour with Consul Wayland, the other members of the Clave took Will's convenient memory loss as an excuse to mistrust him.

Will knew the way already and wanted to take the shortest route, but that particular path would not permit a carriage and was thus rejected by the other two. As was the case, Will was wrestled on the threat of sitting out into a slow carriage. He moped against the window and mourned the loss of Jem, who he knew would have trusted him to know what was best when it came to navigating. Henry was not good company on the journey there, as his head was clearly miles behind them, perhaps in his lab or with Charlotte. Will must have been such a disappointment, when compared to Charlotte. Truly, he would be a disappointment to anyone; he was uncooperative, erratic and sullen when he did not have his way, and he wondered briefly at the phenomenon that was Jem accepting his _Parabatai_ request.

_He truly is an idiot_, Will pondered, _and loneliness does make one do truly stupid things,_

He forgot his reservations when he noticed that another carriage had appeared from around the bend, one with drawn blue curtains and intricate flame work painted on its crest. Will remembered that the Lightwoods had been assigned to a building in Homerton, and it seemed only logical that they would follow one another for a part of the trip. As Henry had chosen the most basic, and maddening, route to Bethnal, both parties would have been forced to travel along Whitechapel road until they reached a crossroads, where the Lightwoods would turn onto Cambridge, and Thomas onto Commercial East. Will shrank into his seat further, watching the grand carriage glint under the streetlamps and cursing the Lightwoods for being so pompous as to engrave gold to their family flames.

_Great peacocks_, Will accused them sulkily, _decorating the hind quarters of their carriage so that it glistens when it turns… right?_

Will craned his neck to be sure that he wasn't mistaken in his accuracy. The sign confirmed his suspicions, and Will should have known better than to think that the rune at the base of his neck for geographical awareness would fail him now. The Lightwoods had not taken their exit to the left, but instead veered onto Commercial East Street, which he, Henry and Thomas were about to take. Why would they turn here, if they intended to ride to Homerton? This exit took them on the wrong side of Victoria Park, and into the factories near the Eastern end of the Thames. Were they taking the longer route? Did they know a better way?

No, Will knew London and he knew Benedict. The Lightwood was a man of fast means, and that did not bode well for detours. Why was Benedict avoiding his allocation? Was he purposefully trying to catch Will's curiosity, and lead him away from his own mission?

Will guessed not, for if he knew Benedict, Benedict knew him as well, and should have guessed what Will would do next. Will jumped to his feet, clambering over a flabbergasted Henry in order to stick his head out the carriage door. Cold wind attacked his face, and Henry hurled orders to get back inside the moving carriage. Will shouted to Thomas, who startled so violently that he nearly reared the horses, and had to be told three times what Will wanted before he acted upon it. They made a sharp turn onto Cambridge Road, which nearly sent Will spinning from the carriage, but Henry wrapped quick arms around his waist and dragged him back inside. Will pulled the door shut with satisfaction, and immediately scrambled over Henry again in order to see out the window.

"Will, what have you-"

"Sorry for the commotion Henry, but you're just going to have to trust me," Will said without turning around, "now I know that it's a hard thing for you comprehend, but do you think that it could be arranged?"

Henry became very still, and it felt as though he were giving the back of Will's head a stern look, "If you do not think that I trust you Will, then you do not know me very well at all."

Will glanced back in surprise, but the severe look on Henry's face was too much for Will to bear, so he spun back around and cleared his throat uncomfortably, "Now that we're better acquainted then, would you like to know why I swerved the carriage?"

.

.

The building that they pulled up beside on Queens Road was black and crumbling, with an unmistakable style of lacing adorning each dank window.

"A brothel?" Henry said, his face scrunching with confusion, and he shot a curious glance at Will.

"The Queen would be in shambles," Will exclaimed, swinging from the carriage with an eagerness he could barely contain. Brothels in London were condensed at East End, where the docks filled with foreign women and men lurked amongst the masses, offering coins for company that the poor newcomers were in no state to deny. A brothel in Homerton was amateur, really. No trained eye would pass over this building and accept it, and Will thrilled with the knowledge that whatever transposed within those walls, it was not prostitution. Will beckoned Thomas in with them, feeling the sudden need to have more muscle for their mission, and they found a servants door on the eastern side of the manner that was not attended.

Inside, the place was almost too dark for navigation. The walls were peeling and the floorboards crunched under their feet with unswept dirt. Will rounded a corner and came to a place where two corridors lent off in different directions. Will indicated that Henry and Thomas should both go on the left, and he on the right. Henry shook his head resolutely, and pushed Thomas after him when tried to race forward without argument.

Will cursed Henry as he continued on and Thomas made as much sound as was possible in his lumbering. It was not his fault, as he did not have runes to quieten him, but Will knew that he had to be rid of him soon. As they passed them, Will poked himself inside every room dagger first, but each contained only empty bedding and cobwebs that hadn't been cleaned in what looked like years. There was something odd about the way the place smelt, as though moisture clung to the inside of the walls and threatened to burst forth at any moment. It was a moist scent, like mildew, old rain and… Something else. Something rotten.

_Who would live in such a place? _Will wondered as he pressed forward through a deserted parlour, _what activity could occur here that was important enough for the care of this house to be abandoned, and why didn't Benedict want to see it?_

One of the rooms adjourning the parlour was sealed shut with mould, and Will knew from his sneaking days that this door probably lead to a cupboard. With a guilty heart, he gestured to the handle for Thomas to work open, and as he concentrated on doing so Will slipped away as fast as he could without making a sound.

The dust in the air was making Will's throat hurt and he found that the old wound at his temple was beginning to throb once more, making it hard to concentrate on his navigation. Mercifully, voices lilted down the hall that gave him some direction, and he followed them until he reached a set of stairs that descended into a foreboding shadowed archway. Will was just about to take them when he heard the tapping of plastic heels on the floorboards from behind him, and he barely had the time to dive behind the nearest doorway as a small girl rounded the corner.

She was dressed in a maids clothing, and had what seemed to be the eyes of a frog as she descended the eerie staircase. Will thought that perhaps the lack of light was tampering with his perception, but before he could dwell on such things, the girl was gone and a door at the bottom of the steps swung wide, casting sickly light into the entire hallway.

"Miranda," A peaked voice demanded from within the room, its tone impatient, "has she consented?"

"No Mrs. Black, she is still resisting the ties and refusing the union." Another answered, presumably the maid girl. Will strained to hear her speak, for her voice was odd and sounded as though it came from an instrument, rather than an emotion. It reminded Will of when Jem tightened the strings of his violin, playing the same note again and again until it seemed to make speak to him the right way. The girl with the violin string voice didn't sound quite human, but what was she?

"What room?" A new voice asked, similar to the first but the slightest bit huskier.

"The one opposite the bathing rooms upstairs, Mrs. Dark." Miranda with the violin voice answered. There was a sound of disapproval.

"I'll deal with her myself soon, but right now the Magister is on his way, and-"

The rest was lost, as the door swung shut again, and Will took flight, wanting to find her before the Dark Sisters did. A thousands questions were running through his mind as he fumbled around desperately for a way up. _This is the place we were looking for, why did the Lightwoods abandon it? Who is the Magister? Why is _she_ so important? Where the ruddy hell is the staircase?_

Will nearly tripped upside the stairs when he found them, and took them three at a time, panting with the reminder of his injury but determined to push on. The air in the house was too wet, and it was as though he couldn't find enough air to satisfy him. He found the bathing room with sweat beginning to press against his hairline, and hesitated before turning to the door Miranda had referred to.

It was too quiet, and from Will's experience he knew that most of the time it was wiser to fear silence than it was to dread commotion. He'd gathered from the conversation downstairs that the girl within was restrained, so he returned his dagger to his sheath, and pushed the door open in the same moment.

At first glance, the room seemed deserted and only disturbed sheets seemed fit to greet him. After a moment however, a shadow descended from the corner of his eye and Will swung his arm out just in time to feel something hard collide with his skin, and shatter. Will fumbled for his witchlight, and let its light burst the room into life.

.

.

_Shards of plaster rained down across the dirty floor. His hand bled profusely, and a bemused girl with strange grey eyes stared back at him as though she'd seen a ghost._

**Tessa ahoy!**_  
_

**Once again, I'm sorry if the next chapter takes longer to arrive, trust me, on the list of things that I want to do, the next chapters up there, but the educational system doesn't really care about my lists, and won't let me near the suggestion box anymore.**

**Sorry for typos, They're just that guy that turns up to a picnic with dip, but he drives you places so you can't quit inviting him. **

**Please remember to review, because you know who wouldn't review? The guy who brings dip to a picnic. That's right. No one likes him, so don't go there.**

**Beta'd by Tash, who has the nicest skin.**

**Chloe :)**


	7. Give me Women, Wine, and Snuff

**Ok, now don't get me wrong, I am super chuffed to see you, there's just one thing.**

**This chapter is illegal.**

**I'm just kidding, you're not going to prison, it's just a couple of days before my first exam and I have no idea why I'm writing this instead of studying.**

**Because, you know, studying is so fun.**

**Anyway, enjoy the chapter and please remember to review what you read, because nothing would make me happier going into my final exams then someone dropping me a line about my story.**

**There will probably not be another chapter until after exams, so we're talking about three weeks, please bear with me if you can :(**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Infernal Devices or the characters associated with it, Cassandra Clare is just busy with her new TMI movie and I'm sure she won't mind if I take her world for a spin.**

"_If you do insist on my attendance at every meeting Consul, then there really is no point in sustaining the Clave age limit any longer," Will commented loudly, and was studiously ignored by every person in the room._

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.

.

Will had been told that he'd been summoned into this particular meeting purely for the fact that his party had been the one to investigate the correct location of the Dark Sisters' operation. He had also been reassured that Jem was not invited only for the fact that it might upset his health. Will knew the latter to be false, as Jem's carefully constructed absence was orchestrated only to temper Benedict Lightwood's fury, who was already seething at the far end of the table, his cage clearly rattled by the whole ordeal.

Will knew now that he had taken Benedict by surprise when he'd pursued the location in Homerton, and since then Will had witnessed for the first time Benedict restraining himself from pointing out that Will had done something wrong. It was clearly not an accident that the Lightwoods had veered from their charter that day, and Will was suddenly under the impression that he held the power over Benedict now as the man cast him constant looks across the great table. Benedict was nervous, suspicious of Will's presence, which Will guessed explained the great fuss he kicked about when Will had entered the room that afternoon.

Benedict's tantrum had seemed to set the pace for the chaotic meeting, as each member of the Clave was in a rage, and this was only worsened by the fact that none of them could seem to agree on what thing was the most infuriating. The Lightwoods were angry that Will had been permitted into the meeting. The Highsmiths and the Blackwells were angry that one of the Dark Sisters had survived. The Penhallows were angry that Will had killed one of the Dark Sisters in the first place. The Inquisitor was angry that Will had veered from his formal instructions. Callida Fairchild was angry over the fact that Henry had allowed him to do so. The Pangborns were angry that the London Institute was allowing sanctuary for a suspected warlock. Even Consul Wayland was angry, over the notion that he could not find a shred of composure amongst this room of bickering children.

Will wondered at the fact that he was the youngest and very nearly the quietest in the room, before the Consul bellowed and the crowd fell silent. Half of the room drew their disgruntled gazes to the Consul, but the other half kept their eyes on Will, as though the moment they lost sight of him he would leap from his seat and destroy things. Will wished very much that Charlotte would sit a tad less defensively in her seat beside him, as this brought the resentment for Will over them both; and Will knew that the spite of other council members was meaningless for him compared to what it boded for Charlotte's position.

Though Gabriel maintained his practiced scowl in Will's direction, there was only fear in his father's eyes as the man watched him. Benedict was a bolt of lightning in his chair, ever fidgeting, and radiating nervous energy that was making Will's palms itch the longer he watched it. Will almost did wish for Jem's presence, so Benedict would have something to be mad about rather than practice this nervous fit any longer. Will suppressed the dark thought quickly, instantly regretful for wanting to put Jem in the middle of this mess while he was still so poorly.

Jem had not left his room in days, as his health was taking longer to restore itself than it ever had before. Will knew it was due to the fact that Jem would not allow himself to rest a moment during his containment. Whenever Will was there, which he made sure he often was, Jem would sit and read or pretend to do other quiet things that would exempt him both from suspicion and the need to communicate with Will. At night, Jem would argue the many reasons why it would not be logical for he and Will to share his bed, and every night Will endured the excuses and dismissed them irritably. Will had allowed every other element of their relationship to wane, and had permitted Jem's distance in the hope that some space between them would merit time for Jem to overcome his inhibitions. There was however, a limit to Will's complacency, and that ended at their sleeping arrangements. Every night they would argue, and every night Will had the small victory of slipping into bed with Jem afterwards, where there was a warmth and comfort that aided Will in almost forgetting all the other fractures they were facing of late.

Jem did not sleep enough, though he pretended he did for Will's sake. Will had tried to ask Jem about it on many occasions, but oftentimes Jem was still in a mood regarding their former argument, and would turn away from him without acknowledgment. It was only when Jem finally fell asleep that Will ever found the chance to hold him, and it was during those times that Will felt he needed it the most.

Jem would jolt and shudder against his dreams, muttering soft sentences in his language that Will guessed were not meant for his ears. Jem's foreign tongue was his small privacy and even now, when Will so desperately yearned to know what was troubling him, he dared not consider stripping that privacy from him. Will had never learnt Chinese, and Jem had never learnt Welsh, and right now severing that unspoken condition was something that Will knew would cause the situation to boil over.

Jem's days were not so different. When Will passed by or hesitated upon entering Jem's room, he heard distinctly the repetitive sound of footsteps across the floorboards, and at intervals the sound of bare feet against the thick runner. Will knew that Jem paced constantly nowadays, almost ceaselessly outside of his company, but felt that they were not on cordial enough terms to discuss the worrying instance yet.

What puzzle was Jem trying to solve? Why did he endure so fruitlessly to hide it from Will? When had they grown so far apart that they could not even worry about these things together? Will had not the answers. It seemed as though uncovering the Dark Sister's secret had left him with only more questions than before, and vaster waters to charter.

The only time in his life that felt honest of late were the stolen mornings when Jem slept restlessly and Will guarded him. He would wait for hours just for that, and it left him in a constant state of exhaustion that resulted in him being half conscious of what was happening around him, and placed his temper at its most sensitive.

He could feel the anger already rising now, as the members of the council whispered and stole angry glances at Will which they knew he could see. The Consul noticed as well, and levelled a warning stare on each one of them, before he formally began the meeting.

"I understand that you are all passionately opposed to different things regarding the events of last week," he began, "but I think, first, an establishment of the facts is in order. This, I feel, will bring some clarity to our concerns."

"Can we establish the fact that one of the Dark Sisters is still rampant in the city as we speak, collecting more demon spawn while we drink tea and argue?" Lillian Highsmith interjected, rising from her seat, and sending a ripple of surprised murmurs across the table. It took quite a lot of courage to stand against one's Consul in protest, and Will realised with surprise and a little smattering of guilt that this issue meant more to the Clave than he had estimated. As George Penhallow rose from his placement as well, the guilt only worsened.

"Is there no consideration for the fact that the warlock's companion was executed without a confession? Where is the justice in an impulsive killing?" He countered, holding his chin steady when the reaction of the group outweighed Lillian's by tens.

No one had entered such a consideration into discussion before, as it caused for internal dissolution and the inevitable isolation of pariahs. Even the Consul was shocked that such a debate had arisen this quickly, and he had not the time to regain his composure before Lillian parried her response with dripping sarcasm,

"What then George? Would you have the downworlder stand trial and atone for its sins?"

"The Nephillim receive such liberties, why are they exempt from the same proceedings?" George hissed, with an uncharacteristic intensity that made half the room shuffle uncomfortably in their seats. Will could finally sense that Charlotte had forgotten her defensive stance over him, as she was staring open mouthed at George Penhallow now as though she had never seen him before.

"Justice is for humans, and they are not human." Lillian cast at him venomously, her brows sharp vectors for her dark eyes. She was close to shaking now with her anger, and Will hoped that he and Jem were on acceptable enough speaking terms for him to relay this fascinating entertainment to him later.

"Neither are we Shadowhunters, yet we are tried by the mortal sword for our digressions. There is no logic in such a statement and I will no longer sit privy to this ignorance," George answered, prompting a residual hiss from the surrounding guests. Will had never considered the rights of downworlders before, for he had been told all his life that they deserved none. It was in their very creation that they were evil, was it not? That was what Charlotte and Henry had told him. They were the products of demonic vice and as such their nature was irredeemable. Though the Nephillim made use of their abilities and connections, Will always guessed that underneath the trickery of flesh and bones there was a fabric knitted in such a way that it worked against all others.

That was what made them a doomed species, their incompatible composition, and that was why they did not require the basic practices of the law, because the law was for humans and they were not human. Will had also believed that the Nephillim were stitched together in a way that was different to humans, but fashioned in a sense that followed the same pattern, so that their sins could be reformed, just as a human's could. Will had accepted that these answers had simply lain in an individual's composition, but now he did not know what to believe as he watched George Penhallow defy everything that he had been taught, and hold his ground against a disapproving majority.

"If you are so sympathetic toward the demonic populations, why not join them and leave this council to continue its work," Lillian returned, her voice low and smirk frightening, "and if fairness is what you demand, you can be stripped of your right to receive a trial when we find you and we can go straight to the beheading-"

"That is enough!" The Consul roared, slamming his fist atop the table so violently that at least the first three teacups on either side of him went rattling to the floor with a delicate crash. There was not a single move to retrieve them, as every stunned gaze was fixated on Lillian, who seemed to have realised her own words too late and was avoiding the Consul's furious glare. Will had never seen Consul Wayland so angry, nor had he predicted that George Penhallow would retain his composure prior to Lillian's comment. He met the Consul's eyes respectfully, the anger in his eyes prevalent but no longer aggressive.

"To be clear, this is not the time nor the appropriate context to create an argument about something as entrenched in our organisation as downworlder justice," he began very quietly, pressing George with a look that seemed almost pleading, "but there is never a time for any one of us to attack a fellow member."

The Consul rounded on Lillian Highsmith, his jaw hardening and shoulders looming with the attempt to contain his anger, "There is no place for traitors in this council Lillian Highsmith, and there never will be. We do not turn on one another under any circumstances, am I understood?"

Lillian conceded in a voice that rather inclined that she understood, but did not care, before the Consul ordered them both to take their seats and remain in them until the meeting adorned. The entire room had fallen into silence following the ordeal, but Will could not help but notice that the Consul's fury had upset Benedict the most. There was so much tension visible in the stiff line of his shoulders that Will wondered briefly whether it were possible for people to spontaneously explode.

"If I may pull the conversation onto a more pointed path Consul, I'd like to question Mr. Herondale regarding his unconventional recovery of the warlock girl," the sharp voice of Inquisitor Whitelaw interjected from beyond Consul Wayland's elbow. At the sound of his name, Will jolted in his chair, and at the same moment he felt Charlotte straighten beside him defensively once more.

_Nose down Charlotte_, Will wanted to hiss out the corner of his mouth, _this is not your responsibility,_

"Very well, give the Inquisitor your respect William," The Consul warned tiredly, slumping back into his seat as a thin woman peaked forward in hers beside him. Inquisitor Whitelaw had never taken Will as an impending person, but now it seemed as though her grey eyes were searching him rather rudely, taking in his wild appearance as a direct offense to her person. Will took deep breaths to calm himself, assured that the potency of his anger and parallel exhaustion were making him hallucinate such things. The Inquisitor spread her long fingers in a light, almost welcoming gesture, as the corner of her lips pulled upwards into a spiteful smile.

"Well Mr. Herondale. Where do we begin?" She asked him, casting the question to him with her outstretched fingers, as though it were a difficult question that only he could answer.

"In my own experience, the start is usually the simplest place to proceed from," he replied haughtily, feeling instantly the heel of Charlotte's shoe on his toes and the cautioning grunt of the Consul, "respect, William."

"You were assigned a location in Bethnal by the council prior to your departure on the night of the search for the Dark Sisters, am I correct?" Inquisitor Whitelaw continued, as though he'd never answered in the first place.

"That is correct," Will answered, pulling his foot from Charlotte's as subtly as he could manage.

"But none of your party went to that location, am I correct again?"

Will smiled, his own irritation beginning to make him enjoy the ridiculous interrogation, "You are correct Inquisitor, yet again."

"Mind your tone," The Consul reminded him, and Will found that he could not comprehend the man's patience with him. Did he do it for Charlotte, or was he simply disinterested in dealing with Will properly?

"Why is it then, even though you were aware of your orders, that you did not go to Bethnal?" Inquisitor Whitelaw proposed heavily, leaning forward in her seat for an emphasis that struck Will as ridiculous, "Why did you belie council instructions, and ride to Homerton?"

Will cast a chaste look about the room, but only focused on one face amongst many. Benedict was positively melting in his seat, he and Gabriel both watching Will with something of desperation in their expressions. Will could scarcely believe that no one had noticed them thus far, their fear seemed so evident to him that it created its own visual gravity. Why were they so nervous? What was their excuse for turning onto Commercial East instead of Cambridge that night? Will did not know, but something in him was warning against ending this too prematurely. So he peeled his gaze back to the Inquisitor carefully, and shrugged in a nonchalant way that he knew would most anger the woman.

"I had a hunch," he answered plainly, revelling in the irritated shock that passed across the woman's face. Benedict seemed to relax in the corner of Will's eye, and once again Will wondered why no one was noticing him. Perhaps his own knowledge and exhausted hypersensitivity were making his observations more pointed.

Inquisitor Whitelaw took a moment to gather her thoughts, then addressed the room more than she did Will, "What you are saying is, you defied Clave command and commandeered your enclaves carriage… for a hunch?"

Will hesitated too, but now he was openly mocking her, "It was a large one."

Once again he felt Charlotte's heel, but he ignored it easily when Henry unexpectedly cut in, "And it was right,"

The other members of the meeting looked from Will for the first time in a while, and watched Henry doubtfully. It was no secret that Henry's opinion was barely considered in Clave matters, and it hurt Will now to know that Henry's defence of him would only worsen that reality more than it was already. The Consul was the exception, half his face hidden behind his joined palms. Though he made not a single sound, Will thought, as the corners of his eyes took flight, that he might be smiling.

"Technically true Henry Branwell, but not entirely relevant," Inquisitor Whitelaw dismissed him quickly, and this seemed to spur the most rage from Will than he'd felt during the entire meeting. The Inquisitor treated Will as though he were a delinquent or a ruffian, and Will endured these things with little care for them; But the way she spoke now to Henry, as though he were an infant in need of minding, caused Will so much anger that he felt his very body overflow with it. Charlotte seemed to realise this when Will's fists contracted violently for retaliation, and drove her heel further into him as a means of painful distraction. Though it stung, Will knew the act was borne of kindness, and it oddly seemed to help as he ground his teeth and focused on his breathing.

Inquisitor Whitelaw seemed oblivious to it all, and continued her questioning without pause, "You knew the Lightwoods were assigned to the lodge in Homerton William, why did you not allow them to handle it as was arranged?"

Still drowning in his previous anger, Will allowed his next words to be tainted with it, "I wouldn't trust the Lightwoods to handle my coat brush, let alone one of my hunches,"

Hearing his comment, Benedict shot upwards in his seat, so quickly that some members of the meeting startled with it. There was something unstable about Benedict in his anger now, as though he were using it merely as concealment for some greater emotion.

"And I suppose that you think you're all the smarter for your disobedience, do you not Herondale?" Benedict snarled, gesturing about the room awkwardly.

"Only smarter than you, Benedict, and it's hardly challenging. Perhaps even Gabriel is smarter than you," Will crossed his arms and indicated his head toward Gabriel casually, "has anyone asked him lately?"

It was hard to tell who was more upset about such a comparison, Gabriel or Benedict. Benedict's anger was so familiar Will could have closed his eyes and imagined such a face; but Gabriel's seemed to have touched on something Will was not supposed to have touched on. Gabriel sank back into his seat and fixated his eyes on his tea, which he had been studiously stirring throughout the entire meeting and not drinking.

"This is what happens when a misbehaving child is permitted to contribute to Clave business!" Benedict spluttered, addressing no one in particular and training his stare on Will. Will forgot Gabriel quickly, and decided to use this opportunity for all it was worth while he still had the chance.

"Interesting, isn't it, Considering the fact that this misbehaving child secured the warlock girl and you didn't?"

Benedict's eyes widened, and Will could tell that he was preparing something quite extraordinary in rebuttal; so when Consul Wayland silenced him Will was almost disappointed that he did not get to hear it. When Benedict finally took his chair again, and the Inquisitor rose to speak, the room seemed to have taken a depressing turn. People were looking in different directions and massaging their temples, obviously tired of Benedict's routine dissatisfaction and even more tried with Will's bad behaviour.

The only one who did not seem perturbed was Inquisitor Whitelaw, who had waited patiently for the row to end and continued her investigation unabated,

"My real question, though it was interrupted by the family in question, is why the Lightwoods weren't at their assigned location when Mr. Herondale took it upon himself to scour it. Can you explain that to me, William?"

At this, the room was suddenly refocused, and Benedict looked as though he had been hit with the flat side of a long sword. Will wanted to seek out Henry for his reaction, and wanted to be able to _not_ see Benedict as he considered his situation. He could tell the truth, and watch with glee as the Lightwoods floundered in their own excuses, of which Will knew there'd plenty. The Lightwoods had not obeyed Clave orders, so much was clear, but their purpose in doing so was what interested Will in the matter. If he revealed the truth now, would their half-hearted excuses conceal that purpose before Will could recover it? What power would he have over Benedict if he kept the truth to himself for just a little longer? Will knew Benedict was watching him, the anger turning swiftly into that nervousness that had consumed him earlier. If Will waited, what would he learn? Was it immoral to keep the information to himself any longer?

It felt to Will as though he were playing a round of black jack, and if he gave up his knowledge now it would be as though he were settling on his first two cards, before the other ones could be dealt that brought him closer to what he wanted. If he waited too long, he would lose, that was true; but if he trusted his instincts he hoped he could retain this power over Benedict and discover the truth in time.

"Our horses rode faster I suppose, perhaps ours are fed better," Will answered after a moment's hesitation that he hoped would not condemn him, "we did not see the Lightwoods on the road once."

Inquisitor Whitelaw seemed unconvinced, and whilst no one but Will was watching, both Gabriel and Benedict deflated in relief, Gabriel's expression bitterly thankful for a rare moment, before he regained himself.

The next question was not asked by the Inquisitor, but by Consul Wayland, as he turned to Henry,

"Can you attest to this Henry?" He asked, his tone loaded and eyes steady. Will felt a cold panic erupt down his spine at his own stupidity. Of course Henry would be asked to confirm anything Will said, as nothing that Will said could be trusted. Henry cast Will a quick glance, and Will knew it was a communicative one but had not the time to analyse its meaning before it was flickered away.

"I can attest to it, Consul. It was my choice to leave early as I did not know the way very well and feared that we would be lost at some point." Henry confirmed lightly, his tone slightly self-deprecating.

The room seemed to accept this, but the Inquisitor rose to argue, "Consul, surely the word of Mr. Branwell is not completely sufficient in confirming-"

"Inquisitor, need I remind you of what I said to Lillian earlier?" The Consul snapped, causing the Inquisitor to blush violently.

The Inquisitor assured the Consul that he did not, and when she attempted to argue her case from a different angle, the Consul interrupted her again as firmly,

"Enough. I trust Henry's word, and that ends the matter. You may retire now, Inquisitor."

Inquisitor Whitelaw took her seat grumpily, and Will stewed in the shame of the Consul's words. The entire Clave ignored Henry's word as a rule, but the Consul trusted him regardless. Henry's words had been valued as evidence and he had been forced by Will to lie to one of the few people who respected him. Will shifted in his seat uncomfortably, attempting to shuffle the guilt into a less painful position, as the Consul moved matters along.

"Charlotte," he addressed her, and Charlotte straightened in response, "would you please enlighten the council of all that you have learnt regarding the warlock girl that was retrieved from the residence of the Dark Sisters?"

"Very well," Charlotte conceded, projecting her voice so that everyone could hear, "Her name is Tessa…"

Will ceased to listen, as his part in this meeting had ended; and instead he continuously tried to catch Henry's attention in order to gauge his anger. Henry's face remained on his wife attentively, and he would not meet Will's eyes for the remainder of the meeting, so Will sank where he sat and instead watched Lillian and George ignore one another resolutely from opposite sides of the room.

.

.

When the meeting had commenced, Will lingered around the corner of the hallway, in order to catch Henry as he exited the drawing room. When he caught sight of Will leaning into the shadows, he excused himself from a nervous Charlotte and came to stand close by, where they could whisper to one another without being overheard by the others.

"Why did you lie for me in there Henry? You had no obligation," Will asked him quickly, glancing about them to make sure that they were not noted by anyone as peculiar. Henry frowned at Will's words, though he did not seem angry. He let a great breath leave him and he seemed startlingly like Jem when he was disappointed in Will's actions. Will had to take a moment to regain his breath for how similar the action was, and wondered for a moment if Jem might have learnt the gesture from Henry.

"I have every obligation, you just don't understand it," he whispered back, watching Will meaningfully, "I said before that I trusted you Will, and that statement still stands,"

He looked as though he wanted to say something further, but Charlotte beckoned him quickly from the main exit, and Henry turned to leave, casting Will the same meaningful look over his shoulder as he left that made Will feel all the worse. Gabriel rounded the corner, just as Henry disappeared through the doors, and when he noticed Will lounging against the wall, his mouth twisted angrily and he strode forward with new purpose.

Before Will could comprehend it, Gabriel took firm hold of Will's collar, and hauled him back against the wall with all his strength. Will's head hit the plaster so hard that he bit down on his tongue, and he tasted hot blood as it pooled inside his mouth. He did not want to give Gabriel the satisfaction of moaning, so to hide it he coughed instead, sending a small spray of blood across Gabriel face, which Will tried not to enjoy.

"What game do you think you're playing, Herondale?" Gabriel spat, digging his knuckles into Will's collarbone and making them ache. Will revelled in the pain, and let a most sinister smile cross his face just for the reaction it granted him.

"I was not sure that I _was_ playing any game… until now," he said, raising his eyebrows and glancing down at Gabriel's hands, as an indication. Gabriel looked as well, making a grunting sound and releasing Will with one last shove that almost foiled his landing. Will landed however, and thanked his runes that he could maintain enough grace to level Gabriel now.

"If you value your life at all, you'll leave my family alone," Gabriel warned him, drawing his sleeve across his face abhorrently to rid himself of Will's blood. Will laughed, a horrid sound, and let the blood in his mouth drip down his lip and onto his shirt front, which he thought almost made Gabriel flinch.

"I hardly think I'm the one with something to lose, Gabriel." Will assured him, trying to make his need to lean against the wall as subtle as possible. He was so tired, the edges of his vision were beginning to blur, and he hoped by the Angel that Gabriel had delivered his message.

"Oh, but you do have something to lose, don't you? He's dying in the next room if I remember correctly-" Gabriel began, but was cut short because Will's temper could not take it, and would not have taken in under any normal circumstance either. Suddenly the blurred edges of his vision did not matter, and Will surged forward with an accuracy that he would later be unable to comprehend, as he drove his fist into Gabriel's mouth.

.

.

Will was so tired that he forgot his own wounds, so when he stumbled into Jem's room sometime later, he did not understand why his _Parabatai_ was so flustered.

"What could you have possibly done Will? You were in a Clave meeting!" Jem was exclaiming, his hands on Will's face reminding him of his swollen lip and bruised eye.

"It was quite impassioned, but that's not why I'm bleeding. Jem, I must tell you-"

"Is there blood in your mouth? Why is there blood in your mouth?!" Jem cried, his concern startling Will with its potency. There was no disappointment, as Will had expected, but merely concern as Jem's cool fingers soothed his skin in a way that made Will want to close his eyes and revel in it.

"I bit my tongue, but I'll get to that part later. I want to tell you about the meeting," Will insisted, taking Jem's wrists and steadying his hands.

"I don't care about the meeting, where else are you hurt?" Jem asked, pulling his arms out of Will's grip irritably and testing his shoulders at different intervals.

"I'm fine Jem, quieten your clucking and let me tell you what happened before I pass out." Will laughed, but the look on Jem's face made it dissolve inside of an instant. Jem looked so worried, almost frantic, in a way that Will had never seen before. It was as though he could not even hear Will over his own concern, and only now did Will realise why. The words came back to him unbidden, and Will felt a new shame settle in his stomach to join that which he felt regarding Henry,

'_You are not indestructible Will. As it turns out we're spun from the same fragile glass.'_

Will looked into Jem's eyes now and recognised what he saw there. The fear in Jem's eyes was the same one that he felt each time he saw Jem stumble in the hall, or lean against the shelf for support, or retch blood onto the floorboards. Jem could die at any moment, and it was only after the accident that Jem had realised the same thing about Will. Gone was the assumption that Will would always escape unscathed, replaced by the worry that Will's every word would be his last. A wave of despair threatened to unbalance Will as he watched Jem worry, for he had spent their entire friendship caught up in worry about Jem's health, but he would have never wished the same thing upon Jem.

With shaking hands that he could not control, Will reached up and took Jem's face into his palms, and told him firmly, "Jem, I'm fine. Look at me. I promise."

Jem did look at him, and it seemed to Will like he had only just realised what he had been feeling, and something regretful seemed to pass over him. He took Will's hands, and removed them from his person slowly, dropping his gaze and turning away.

"I know, you just… took me by surprise," he said quietly, propping himself atop the sheets of his bed and levelling a new look of calm on Will that he knew was fake.

"Don't tell me that you're actually worried about me James?" Will teased, hating the fake expression he was receiving and probing it for more. Jem gave him nothing, but focused on pulling a loose thread at the edge of his sheets.

"Of course I care Will, don't be daft. Tell me about the meeting," Jem prompted him, and Will was too out of his wits to do anything but obey.

Jem listened intently, clearly interested in the debate between Lillian Highsmith and George Penhallow. Will wondered aloud at George's audacity, when Jem surprised him by saying, "I agree with him,"

Will's eyebrows sauntered to his hairline, "You believe that downwordlers should receive equal representation to the Nephillim?"

"Certainly. The way the trial system is run now is truly insufficient. In my experience, I feel a human, Shadowhunter, vampire or warlock alike should receive fair consideration before their fate is decided." Jem answered evenly, the hint of a smile playing on his lips.

"You think they are worthy of such considerations?" Will furthered, fascinated by the unexpected answer. Will supposed that Jem would approve of such a concept, being so kind in his nature, but Will had not guessed that Jem paid so much attention to these matters. Had he always been so interested in downworlder rights?

"Yes I do, as it does not absolve them from being guilty, but gives them due chance to defend themselves before their judgement is served," Jem explained.

Will felt the floor beneath him lurch suddenly, and he knew that he did not have much time left before he fell asleep to explain the rest of the meeting to Jem, so he pitched forward onto the bed without a shred of grace, and continued his story from there. As he spoke, Jem attempted to right him into a less sprawled position, and as he was turned onto his back, Will dropped his head into Jem's lap without thinking.

Jem froze for a moment, seemingly deciding whether or not to allow this, but shortly after he relaxed again. He began to push the hair from Will's face gently, but Will stopped him, explaining unhappily that he would fall asleep if Jem did that any longer. Toward the end of Will's recount, the displeasure Will had been expecting seemed to have dawned across Jem's face, and as he began to describe his and Gabriel's short but efficient fight, Jem rolled his eyes as though he had known it was coming.

Jem had his own opinion regarding Will's withheld information about the Lightwoods, though Will could only listen now that his eyes had fallen shut and would not open anymore.

"Really Will, you can't just hold onto things when you don't know what you're supposed to do with them," Jem was saying, the sound of his voice fading into the distance rapidly. Will chuckled, reaching up to toy with the buttons on Jem's shirt clumsily.

"I don't know what to do with you, but that hasn't stopped me, has it?" He was not sure whether he said the phrase aloud or not, but just as he was succumbing to a long awaited rest, Jem took Will's hand and slipped his own into it. It seemed like a small amount of time passed, and Jem said from somewhere nearby,

"We need to talk Will,"

Will found this funny as well, though he knew not why. He thought he may have asked for Jem to save the talking for a time when he wasn't sleeping, but when he next woke and Jem was gone, he really could not remember.

.

.

The Library was quite dim at night, Will noticed, and he would have to talk with Henry about a more efficient way to illuminate it than witchlight. The glow of the stone cast a hue across the pages he was reading in such a shade that he began to develop a migraine, so he cast the old volume of Keats aside, and lay back against the table upon which he had been sitting, in order to ponder what he had learnt that day. It suddenly dawned on him, that he had not in fact learnt anything, at least not in the physical sense.

The case was that he _might_ have learnt a few things today, that would become important in the future. He _might_ have discovered something dark and very secret about the Lightwood family. He _might_ have soiled Henry's name with the Consul, if their deceit was ever exposed. They _might_ be in danger if this is Gabriel's plan, to reveal their untruths to the council in order to tarnish their name, but no; Surely Gabriel knew that his own discrepancy outweighed theirs? Would he risk such a thing, for the sake of his own personal revenge? He _might_, and Jem _might_ have something potentially unappealing to tell Will next they meet. Will had been avoiding the main house dutifully since he had woken for this very reason, and was currently ruing the fact that his life had become so muddled without his consent or knowledge.

Why did he live a life of so many unnecessary complexities? It seemed as though he functioned on withheld feelings and false pretences. It really was no wonder that he misbehaved, when he was so damn confused most of the time. He did not know what anyone wanted of him, least of all Jem. He and Jem had fallen apart these past few months and it frustrated Will to Hell that he did not even know _why_, let alone how to fix it.

His thoughts drifted to the poem he had looked up in Keats' works just previously, wallowing in the longing that he felt for something so blatantly simple,

"_Give me women, wine and snuff_," he said aloud, grinning as he did so for the beautiful contrast and closing his eyes, "_until I cry out 'Hold, enough!' You may do so sans objection, till the day of resurrection-_"

He broke off, unable to continue for the laughter the poem was granting him. Will wondered if he was drunk, or still so tired that his mind was finally unravelling; but he was pulled from the thought when a soft voice answered him.

"_For, bless my beard, they aye shall be my beloved Trinity."_

Will's head snapped up, and he found the source of the voice lingering against the shelf closest to the door, a shy and somewhat involuntary looking smile stretched across her face. Her presence had been so unexpected, and Will's reaction time was so unguarded, that he simply watched her for a few moments, until she began to come toward him hesitantly.

"You know the poem?" He asked her, a little disbelievingly.

Tessa plucked the volume daintily from the floor where Will had thrown it, holding it as one might a small kitten, and began to search for its place on the shelf as she replied, "_Give me women, wine and snuff_, perhaps one of the most honest poems Keats ever wrote,"

Will laughed once at this, the sound erupting from his chest before he could control it, and he revelled in the blush it caused her, "How indelicate, so it doesn't seem pointless to you that Keats writes about something as fickle as pleasure?"

Tessa turned her gaze to him at that, a clear disagreement brewing in her stormy eyes. Will had not known the girl for very long, but that did not seem to be a problem in recognising when he was about to receive a discussion from her.

"Certainly not," she began, gripping the book between her palms and pressing it absently, "in fact, I respect him more _because_ he takes the effort to write about the temporary."

Will had not expected such an answer, and was caught off guard in a way that he never usually was. Due to this, the only response he could formulate was a dumbfounded, "Why is that?"

Tessa seemed undisturbed by his stupidity, and continued enthusiastically, "Well it's quite simple really, poetry is in the little things, isn't it? The things that only a true artist can paint and make it matter,"

Will considered her, wondering if she was being truthful or if she was rattling off some other persons opinions. For truly, how could someone so isolated provide such an eloquent answer? An answer that was beginning to sound startlingly like his own, though he had read this library from shelf to shelf and never forgotten a word.

"What of the epic poets then? Have you no respect for their work?" He asked, wanting to know what she thought and not wanting to know all at the same time. She frowned severely, and looked as though he had asked her to jump out the window behind them.

"Don't be ridiculous," she chided, though she began to smile in spite of it, "but it is certainly harder to write about something miniscule like wine, than it is to write about something monumental."

"What makes you think that?" Will asked, starting to think that he was asking too many questions, and suddenly realised that she made him nervous enough to ask them. Tessa found the space where Will had gotten Keats from, and she slotted it back in with a care that Will could not help but notice.

"Well, do the big things not speak for themselves?" She inquired, running her fingers down the spine of the book and not turning around, "And were poetry reserved for the big things, there would not be poetry enough to fill a single library."

Will tried to compose himself as she turned back to him, and he was slapped with a sudden familiarity that made his fingers and toes tingle. As she turned, Tessa ran her fingers lightly across the books tucked into the shelf, and for a moment Will forgot where he was completely. The gesture was so possessively familiar, and Will knew where he had seen it before. He saw it when Jem picked up his violin; he saw it when Henry worked at a mechanism in his crypt; he saw it when Charlotte looked at he or Jem; and he saw it whenever he himself was near the literature he loved.

Tessa shared a passion for books with Will that he had never shared with anyone, and until now the reality of that had not sunken in. But there it was, in the touch of her fingers to paper, the ownership that he had been looking for. He did not have this connection with Jem, could not talk with him about poetry as he was doing now. Jem, who felt that poets squandered with too many words what could be perfected in sweet music. Jem, who could not comprehend the importance of literature in Will's life, just as Will could not comprehend the importance of music in Jem's.

Tessa was looking at him expectantly, and Will had to take a moment to remember what they had been talking about, "So it's size over quality then? Do you find all blasphemous poems so inspiring?"

She tried valiantly to hide her smile, to no great victory, "I do think you're trying to distract from the fact that you agree with me,"

"You did not answer my question," Will replied, cursing her perception for making him uncomfortable enough to have to supress a blush.

"Which was it? You ask so many," she teased, the smile breaking through completely now, "Of course I should choose quality over amount, but as every poet likens himself to Apollo, my opinion will be tainted by my own personal taste."

Once again she had struck him unprepared. Her words brought back a phrase he had thought he'd forgotten, having last heard it years before in a language left far behind, _every bird relishes his own voice…_

"_Digrif gan bob aderyn ei lais ei hun," _Will murmured to himself absently, forgetting that Tessa was within earshot.

"What did you say?" She asked, her interest caught on the foreign sound of it. He instantly regretted his actions, and waved her away in what he hoped was a casual disinterest.

"Nothing, forget I said anything,"

"I shouldn't think that my memory is sharp enough to remember something spoken in a language I don't understand," Tessa continued persistently, reminding him a little of Jem when he wanted to know something, "what tongue was that spoken in?"

Will hesitated, unsure of whether he wanted to tell her or not. How far would her interest pursue? From what he'd seen of her he knew that she wasn't the most tactful of creatures. It was hard for Will to imagine her as anything other than a human girl, when she watched him with those intelligent eyes, with nought but curious innocence in them. It unsettled him to no end, that innocence, for he had met no one with an amount like it in his life, perhaps she had even more than Jem. Will remembered with guilt that Jem had been that innocent before Will had corrupted him, but this girl stood now, having lived a life as hard as they came, and had not a single streak of wickedness in her.

The argument at the meeting between George and Lillian returned to him now, and he thought he was beginning to understand George's opinion. He had been taught that downworlders were irredeemable, but was this face truly evil? She was not beautiful, for beauty carried its own deceptions, but she was honest before him, and unguarded in her person. How could something as open as this creature exist outside of justice? Will suddenly knew why Jem had known his answer simply, because he now knew the answer was that simple. But was this girl an exception?

Will remembered that there had been no sense of wickedness about Magnus Bane when they'd met, nor could he imagine someone as vibrantly young as Magnus living forever. But there certainly had not been innocence in Magnus' eyes, and Will could distinctly imagine that dark truths lingered under the deceiving exterior. Magnus Bane had been beautiful in a way Tessa was not; a beauty that Will knew carried its own agendas, and its own trickery.

Tessa's beauty was not an illusion, and Will found that he could not deny her the things she wanted to know, "I spoke Welsh,"

She seemed to delight in this knowledge, and wasted no time in furthering her information, "Are you from Wales? Is the language what adds that lilt to your accent?"

"I have an accent?" Will asked, astounded. He knew Jem had one, but it only went so far as to formalise certain sounds and Will had stopped hearing it long ago. It was a wonder that he would still have an accent at all, but Tessa seemed to have already moved on from this fact and was now talking about something else.

"A small one, don't worry. It is actually a fine clarification when I am to my ears in the regular Londoner tone. Your accent is what I imagine Rochester to have in Jane Eyre, if it is not too bold to mention. Have you read it?"

"It is too bold, and you're hardly one to talk of accents; I haven't the foggiest notion of what your people have done to the letter _r _to make it moan that way." Will replied, finding an unusual pleasure in the way his words made her shy. Why did he find her so amusing?

"Do you take offense to the comparison, or are you trying to make me feel uncomfortable?" She asked, edging away when Will sat up and leant toward her.

"In what world would a man wish to be likened to a sinning hermit?"

Her eyes brightened suddenly with victory, and Will began to rethink his conclusions about her not being very beautiful.

"Ah, so you have read it then?" She grinned.

"Yes, and how would you like it if I compared you to Jane?" He accused her, feeling the sudden need to be doing something other than look at her grinning. He jumped from the table, with what must have been quick work, for she jumped back a little, and stretched out his sore joints.

"I would be delighted, there's no shame in aspiring after a strong independent character, plain as she may be," she said, levelling a serious stare on Will that reminded him so strongly of his sister that he froze in his stretched position and merely watched her. Ella had looked upon him with such a determination many times, when he had accused her of being weak or not strong enough to overcome a task. She would shake her dark hair from her eyes impatiently and set her lip in a way that assured him that she wasn't serious when she thundered, '_Gwilym Owain Herondale, I'll show how strong I can be, when I am doubted,'_

Suddenly, it was Ella standing before him in the flickering library, her little feet planted and arms crossed in a way that made her seem terrifying and hilarious all in one motion. He was overcome with the need to reach for her, to pull her close and lose himself in the comfort of her arms like he used to, back when he so rarely appreciated it. He took a step forward, so she and he were a breath apart, but her expression dropped into something very unlike Ella, and the illusion began to fall back to reality.

Her hair was brown and curling, and her eyes were such a soft tone of grey that they hardly seemed possible. Tessa was watching him with shock and wariness, as he was sure the look on his face must have been quite terrifying. Never before had a memory of Ella given him such happiness, and even now the feeling was just bittersweet as the deception fizzled away in his veins.

Tessa watched his face change, but did not falter or step away from him, and such a thing sent a warm shiver down his spine. He wanted to touch her still, not in the way he had wanted to touch Ella, but for the same reasons. He wanted the warmth, and the comfort; he wanted what he saw in Tessa's eyes, but didn't have the courage to reach out for it.

Instead, he cleared his throat and strode past her, hoping that the ordeal had not left him shaken enough for her to notice, "How interesting," he lied, hiding his face from her, "well I shan't do it then. Delight will stir the stomach before bed."

.

.

.

_Will felt Tessa's bemused stare on his back all the way to his room, where he slept alone and dreamt of a face that changed so often that he could not tell where Tessa ended and Ella began._

**And that was that.**

**Does anyone have an idea as to why Jem is so suddenly interested in downworlder rights? (hehehe)**

**Sorry if you don't find my portrayal of Tessa satisfying. I completely understand. I never connected with her as a character and this was my way of mending that connection, so she wouldn't appear flat compared to the others.**

**Once again, no chapter for a little while, but maybe some reviews will work their magic..?**

**Sorry for any typos, they're just such shy little things that you never get to see them before it's too late.**

**Beta'd by the lovely Tash, who is also stressed about exams.**

**Chloe :)**


	8. Nightmare

**Here look, I did a chapter for you :)**

**First off, thank you so so much for all your patience with me while I've been doing my exams. I'm halfway through them and on my way to freedom! Slow, slow freedom...**

**This chapter, and the next one are both from Jem's perspective (woah man, woah) and this one elaborates on what exactly Jem dreams about that he won't discuss with Will (because, you know, angst)**

**Enjoy the chapter and please persevere with your patience, because it might be a few weeks before the next chapter arrives, but it will come, if you believe. Please remember to review and let me know what you think, because your responses are what give me the motivation to get the chapters finished faster. **

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of there characters herein, or the world they live in. Cassandra Clare brought them to life, and I'm just someone who really appreciates that.**

_In vain to scream with quivering lips she tries,__  
__And strains in palsied lids her tremulous eyes;__  
__In vain she wills to run, fly, swim, walk, creep;__  
__The will presides not in the bower of Sleep._

_~ Nightmare – Erasmus Darwin ~_

_._

_._

_The shifting lights were all too familiar to him. He'd had this dream many times, and for that fact he really should have known better._

.

.

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It always began in darkness, this particular dream, before his veins caught fire and illuminated the horrible images waiting for him behind the sweet mask. Jem couldn't guess whether he found the hallucinations or the pain more incapacitating, but he knew that their combination left him raw with renewed fear regardless every time. Great rivers of blood snaked at his feet, the colour so vibrant it radiated scarlet light onto his pale skin, and he felt heat rising from it like a pulse.

The smell was sweet in the worst way, stinging his nose and causing bile to clump at the base of his throat. The stench of burning flesh was unlike anything else in the entire world, and Jem wondered if there was a single inch of _this_ world that was not filled with it. He choked and gagged as the smell gathered in his lungs, and seethed there until he was sure his insides were eroding. Was the smell from his own body, steaming from the molten blood rushing about his veins? Jem did not know, knew nothing but the pains and smells and sounds that were cutting into him as blessed daggers might.

There was a sudden sharp ache in the crook of his arm, and the colour of the blood intensified once more, its light utterly blinding. _Yanluo_ was laughing, the sound like shattering glass in the near distance, though Jem could not see him. There was screaming as well, the unmistakable voice of his mother crying out for him, barely audible over _Yanluo's_ cackle. Jem strained to hear her, wanting to call back but unable to find his voice, and held onto her words in desperate hope of salvation.

_Jiàn._

_Tā shì bùshì zhēnzhèng de._

_Tā huì tōngguò._

_Tā shì bùshì zhēnzhèng de Jiàn._

_It's not real._

_It will pass._

_It's not real Jian._

Jem took the words and wrapped himself in them, so their power encased him against the world the drug had created. He had used these words so many times, when the illusions had overwhelmed him and he needed something real to hold onto, something to guide him back to the living. He writhed and shuddered into them now, wanting to understand their comfort but knowing that what he saw was indeed real, as distinctly familiar as it was every night he saw it. He was in the sitting room, the hearth shivering with recent fire and the only light falling in from the far windows. The chair Jem had been bound to was cast aside in _Yanluo's_ absence, but the other two were still occupied.

With her pleas still floating from a distant reality, Jem looked upon his mother's slumped body in her seat as he had done a thousand times, knowing he should run but unable to look away. His father had been dead longer, his blood dry and shoulders still stretched toward his wife in… What? What was his father's last action before he was murdered? What were his last words? Jem had been there and not been there all at the same time. He hadn't even known that his father was dead, when he had been resting mere feet from where Jem had been, lost in the grotesque effects of the demon drug. What Jem was watching was his memory, something that felt very real and painful to him. But the words were still true, this memory would pass, and Jem drew courage from this fact and thrust the words forward as a weapon against it. The blood river hissed and bubbled, the heat intensifying. Jem fastened his eyes shut and willed the images away, straining against the urge to be swept from his feet by the magnitude of his pain…

Suddenly, there was silence. The pain and smell and heat vanished, leaving Jem tingling with a phantom hollowness where it had all just been. The air was cold, and sunk into his very bones as he slowly opened his eyes once more. He was in the foyer of the Shanghai institute, utterly alone and in the shadows of the looming doorway. The doors were never left open; they were the sovereign protection against demonic intrusion, and the image of them left swinging was so unordinary that it made Jem shiver with unease. There were no footmen about, no witchlight to give life to the institute, though the early morning cast a dull blue light onto the tile that granted Jem just enough visibility to see his way.

Though no breeze penetrated the foyer, he could feel himself gravitating toward the second door from the entry, which was pushed aside slightly and waiting. Even after all these years, Jem knew where the door lead, and began to panic as his feet scraped forward without his permission. The things that had been invisible before were shining beacons to him now; the mirrors had been removed from the walls, and a white cloth was hanging above the entrance like a scar.

The white cloth framed the doorway of the dead, and Jem knew who the cloth commemorated, who was waiting for him in the darkness of the room beyond. Jem strained and pulled, but his course was true, and as he came closer the sweet smells began to rise again until his eyes were watering. He felt close to tears, wanting to die rather than have to enter that room once more, but a small voice from behind him seemed to break the curse on his feet, and return him to himself.

"Don't go back in there,"

The voice bounced off the smooth floor and hit Jem like a sudden wind. He whirred around to see the silhouette of a boy- or was it a man? He was thin, and too tall to balance it properly. As Jem's eyes adjusted, the first thing that struck him, that always struck him, was the unlikely blue of his eyes, especially set against a face so pale and hair so raven. Will looked to Jem grimly, his fine mouth set and brows risen high in pleading.

He was all knuckles, elbows and knees, no older than twelve as he lingered against the stonework, and open in a way that Jem had very nearly forgotten he could be. His face was soft and vulnerable, his eyes clearer than they had been in years; Jem felt warm and cold in the same moment looking upon Will as he was, knowing that it was as much an illusion as everything else in this dream. Nonetheless, it took his breath away, and Jem stumbled toward him in the sudden need to touch him, to ensure his presence.

"Will," he whispered, unsure whether he was asking or stating. Will smiled widely, a sweetness cultivating in his face that Jem was sure the real Will had lost long ago, and turned on his heels to leave. Jem called after him desperately, unwilling to lose the first pleasant thing is this dream so hastily. He tumbled out of the entrance after Will, as the child laughed with glee and began to run down the cobbled street, casting a chaste look over his shoulder that worked as an indication for Jem to follow.

Jem started after him, amazed that Will would tease him this way, and equally amazed that he did not hesitate in giving chase. Will ducked into a narrow street, which was lined with early markets and bustling merchants in search of trade. Will weaved through them as though he were made of smoke, and Jem seemed to collide with each one no matter how diligently he swerved. He persisted through countless throes of insults and incredulity in his determination to keep sight of Will, and in doing so was unable to savour the nostalgic market around him.

The smell of sandalwood was carried on a cloud of incense from a nearby stall, and battled with the stench of fresh fish. Jem pushed past stands that were piled high with fruits, and benches that were draped in imitation silk. Men called out to him from all sides, their accents thick with country life as they advertised their stock. Jem realised with a heavy heart that he could not understand many of them because of it; after so many years of isolation from his own language, he had forgotten all but the formalised Chinese he himself spoke so rarely.

He wanted to linger, to understand each word the merchants said, but he feared losing Will, because Will had been the one to stop him entering that room of death, and Jem did not want to find out if those effects left when Will did.

Will lead Jem past the market district, to the far reaches of the city's wall, where tall bathhouses twisted high above them, exhaling steam in such quantity that it formed a mist on the road and made the air sticky. Will dove straight into it, forcing Jem to bumble about through hazes that smelt falsely of jasmine in order to keep up. Women in damp robes draped themselves against the doorways, using their paper fans to push about hot air, and watched Will dart by in keen interest. Jem followed him labouredly until the mist cleared, and a worse one took its place. Less people lined these streets, but those that did Jem had to jump over as they slumped amongst the stone with no direction to their gaze.

Opium stung Jem's throat and made him want to cough, but Will was not faltering, so Jem pushed himself forward listlessly. They ran until the stench was overwhelming, and Jem felt himself slowing down in need of clear air. When he finally came to a halt, he was standing with his hand braced against the city's enclosing wall. He wondered whether he was covered in sweat or water from the steam, and thought he could almost hear the river Huangpu raging from here, for his want of its cleansing water was so great. Will was nowhere to be seen, and Jem cursed himself for being so weak.

He never could keep up with Will, not even in his dreams.

He pushed himself away from the wall abhorrently, and continued forward at a much slower pace than he had before, having lost the motivation of pursuit. He tried not to look down as he crossed the paths of addicts by the side of the road, as their pathetic state was too familiar for Jem to bear. They were just like him, the fools, though they had not the luxury of privacy when their dignity was at its least. Jem's heart ached for them, but he supressed it in the knowledge that underneath it was just another form of self-pity, indulgent and selfish.

When Jem came to a clearing, the lingering opiate haze vanished as though he'd passed through an impenetrable barrier, and the air was suddenly clearer than it had ever been. The courtyard was old, Jem could tell by the way the stone rose and fell across uneven ground and paint peeled from the plaster on the houses that surrounded it. Will was waiting for him in the centre of the space musingly, and again Jem had his breath taken away by the fact that he had changed.

His body was long and fluid, as though he were a streak of human energy rising up from the ground, and his face had fallen into sharp angles of strength and firmness. The soft nature of his youth was gone, and he stood before Jem beautiful and grown. He was seventeen again, striking to behold with those same stormy eyes asking for trouble. Yet, his smile remained as sweet as it had been before, and Jem wanted time to bend around this moment, just so he could appreciate how innocent Will looked for a little longer. Will said his name however, and held out his hand for Jem to take.

Overcome with the concept of laying his hands on something so perfect, Jem rushed forward without a moment's hesitation, reaching his fingers out to lace with Wills. Will laughed again, amused by Jem's enthusiasm, and used the fingers Jem had given him to pull Jem flush with his body, until they were one clean line against the horizon. Will was warm and smooth and smiling as Jem cupped his palm against Will's jaw, and when Will said his name Jem ducked his head forward to kiss him without a single consideration for their surroundings.

Will tried to speak afterwards but Jem kissed him again and again to stop him, feeling an insane need to preserve the holiness of the silence. They were so utterly alone, and for the longest moment Jem forgot everything that wasn't the way Will tasted and felt. What more did Jem need? There was escape and comfort in Will's arms, and Jem never wanted to leave them.

Will continued to laugh and return Jem's kisses bewilderingly. Jem wondered how he could be real, his beauty was such that it had its own glow in the morning light. Jem drank him in, drank in his laughter and happiness as though he intended to replace it's sustenance for that which the drug granted him. He thought for a wild moment that perhaps it could, until he felt something warm and thick lick against his shoes.

Jem glanced down, and saw dark red blood oozing up from the stones, welling between the cracks and overflowing against their feet. Jem gasped and tried to move away, but his feet were fastened to the spot. Will was still laughing, and no matter how Jem shook him and pleaded Will remained oblivious to the rising pool of churning blood below them. The blood rose endlessly, reaching the edges of the courtyard and filling it as though they were caught in a macabre trough.

It was not until Jem felt it reach his knees that he realised Will was not stuck as he was, and would stumble back and forth as Jem shook him. Uttering a small cry of relief at this discovery, Jem took Will by his shoulders and pushed his away, begging him to run and save himself. Will would not however and, suddenly very serious, grasped onto Jem so tight that neither one of them could breathe properly, in what seemed like a mind to never let go.

Jem was astounded by this, and wrenched at the hold Will had on him violently, begging his _Parabatai_ to leave while he still had the ability to do so. Will ignored him, fastening himself as the blood rose to their chests and swelled around them. It was so hot, the blood, and just like before there was an awful pulsing feel about it that made it seem like it came from something living, and had a nature all its own. Jem was terrified, not for himself but for Will, and tears of frustration streamed down his face as he fought with Will.

"Get off Will, please! If you love me you'll let go!" Jem implored him, repeating the sentiment thrice until Will clasped a hand over his mouth, and asserted calmly,

"Stop, Jem"

At that, the sound seemed to rush out of Jem, and he could not utter a single syllable no matter how hard he tried. The courtyard was filling past their necks, and Jem wished that he could look away from Will in their last moment. The blood was burning Jem's skin, scalding him as it swallowed him whole, and he had not a moment's chance to say goodbye before it flooded his mouth and they were submerged.

Jem floundered in the mess and felt blood line the wall of his lungs. All he could see was red, and all he could feel was fire. It burned him and ate at his flesh until it crumbled away into nothing. As it tore him apart, Jem felt Will's hold on him falter, and dissolve into the bloodied sea until it and he were one.

_._

_._

Jem broke the surface of his dream with a violent start, and felt as though there was still a river of blood clogging his airways. He would have liked to lean over the edge of the bed and retch for the feeling it granted him, but he was suddenly very aware of the other body curled around him in the darkness. He knew Will was awake, knew from the way his body reacted so quickly to Jem's fright, but Jem kept his eyes closed and willed himself asleep once more despite his ailments. There was a pause, and a rustling of sheets as Will moved to hold him closer.

"Jem?" Came the quiet inquiry, casting warm breath across the back of Jem's neck. It made him shiver and confirm Will's suspicions neatly. Jem cursed his own body and tried to keep it still and Will rose even further in response, his calloused hand running up Jem's shoulder to coax him.

"Jem," this time it was a statement, and Jem could feel Will scrutinising him from above silently. Jem knew that Will held him when he slept, and knew that, if he should turn, Will would be inches away with all forms of comfort to give him. How long had it been since such things were available to Jem? When was the last time Jem had turned to Will after a nightmare in order to receive small whispers and caresses of comfort? How many times had it sated him from the horrifying images and sent him to that blissful place of dreamless sleep? Jem wanted to turn, wanted it so badly his bones ached with it; but he knew that, if he did, the dreams would only keep coming.

Jem swallowed his want and hid himself from Will, until he heard a long sigh as Will dropped back down behind Jem tiredly. He did not release his hold on Jem, and Jem felt himself a coward for not breaking the contact himself. But that was something Jem knew about himself, that he was weak in more ways than one.

Jem's heart was breaking as he feigned the peace of sleep and curled away from Will, because he knew that allowing this touch was nothing short of prolonging the inevitable. Soon there would be a time when Jem would have to stop this, soon there would come a point in his and Will's relationship when they would have to finally be honest with one another.

.

.

.

_I am a weak man, Jem thought to himself sadly, as he counted Will's breaths and revelled in the heat of their contact, but if I love him, I'll find a way to let him go._

**And so it went.**

**If you were wondering, mirrors are removed from Chinese houses after the death of a family member, because it is bad luck to see oneself in the reflection with a casket, and is an omen for death in the near future.**

**Please please please go ahead and review. If reviews were food, I would starve to death just sitting there looking at them, that's how much I like reviews.**

**Sorry for typos, we're going to counselling next week in order to find out whether we can work our problems out together, but until then there's just not a lot of love circulating between us.**

**Beta'd by the lovely Tash, who is still stressed about exams.**

**Chloe :)**


	9. Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust

**It's Here!**

**There are no words for how sorry I am. My exam results came in today so the chaos has officially ended, and I finally had the time to sit down and write this chapter properly.**

**This was a hard chapter to write, and it has been rewritten more times than I can count, but it's finally finished, and I can't wait to give it to you.**

**For those still with me after this long hiatus, I can't express how appreciative I am, and to those who reviewed you are what kept this story alive when I was unable to write it, so thank you.**

**Enjoy the chapter and please review.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Infernal Devices or the characters within, they are the property of Cassandra Clare and I don't take what isn't mine.**

'_一個正義壓制百年病邪''_

'_One justice suppresses centuries of Evils'_

_~Ancient Chinese Proverb~_

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"_Are the mountains in that painting real?" Tessa asked, drawing Jem from his work with a fright._

_._

_._

_._

She was standing just shy of the doorway to his room, her bare feet sinking into the runner. She was not looking in his direction, nor did she seem to have felt the need to announce herself before entering his chamber. How long had she been standing there? Jem had been so focused on the music sheets before him that he had not heard her enter, nor felt her inquiring stare. Jem had not much experience with the subject, but he guessed that a girl standing shoeless and unannounced in his bedroom was not entirely proper, though she seemed either unaware or uncaring of this fact. Were private manners less defined in her America? Or did Jem's own experiences on this topic regarding Will simply lead him to believe that all forms of interaction within a bedroom lead to impropriety?

Tessa cast an expectant glance over her shoulder to Jem, and Jem found that her cordial ease caused affectionate warmth to spread inside his chest, rather than irritation or indignation. Her naivety was refreshing after all, when Will provided more than enough corruption in Jem's life. She looked like the stalk of a new flower as she leant back to observe the painting in question, propped against his old dresser; and for the first time in what seemed like years Jem looked at it too.

Watery greys and sharp strays of ink brought forth the illusion of mountain peaks shrouded in mist, tumbling and rolling to touch the skies. They breached and dove into the fog like great green fish, and Jem found that he could not imagine them sitting still for a minute, not when their elegant curves were so vibrant with energy.

"Yes they are. That is the Huangshan Mountain range, in China," Jem answered her, feeling the need to turn away from the floating hills and the memories they granted him. He began to shuffle the music into order, and there was silence until he slid the _Eventide_ Lullaby into the top drawer of his bedside table, before he heard Tessa shuffle along the carpet and face him.

"Have you been there?" She asked, coming to sit on the chest that held Jem's violin at the foot of his bed.

_Now this is most definitely improper,_ Jem thought to himself, _I'm very nearly sure. _But there was nothing improper in Tessa's soft eyes, as she levelled Jem's stare in wait of an answer. Indeed, that was something that Jem had noticed in his time with the warlock girl, that there was little sinister about Tessa, despite the fuss surrounding her abilities. She did not seem to like her abilities any more than the Clave did, for that matter, and refused to use them outside of what was most necessary. Her abilities isolated her; they blurred the lines that existed between warlocks and humans and set her adrift in a reality in which she was an outsider to everything. All the worse, she had been cast away into a city starkly different from her own, with creatures she had previously believed to only exist in folklore.

Where all others looked at her and saw a new breed of downworlder, something that they could not define; Jem saw a girl, small and lost in a world set to hurt her. Jem understood her fears, and could recognise what it felt like to be ostracized. He too was an outsider, his lines blurred between race and homeland. His allegiance was trained with those there at the London Institute, but his heart ached for the reality that existed in the painting with the floating mountains; and for that emotional parallel Jem felt that it was only fair that he tell Tessa what she wanted to know.

"No, but my parents have, when they were first married," Jem explained, standing from the bed and circling it so that he and Tessa were not facing one another across the thing, which somehow made Jem feel a little better about his moral wellbeing. Tessa seemed not to notice, as she struggled with the newest concept he had provided her.

"As newlyweds? That hardly seems romantic," she retorted, doubt lacing the statement. Jem smiled, remembering that he had reacted in much the same way when his father had explained it to him many years ago.

"I didn't think so either, but it is what waits at the top of the mountain that is romantic," Jem continued, and quickly retrieved the painting so that he would have something to do with his hands whilst he spoke.

"Along the old roads across the mountain peaks, railings skirt the cliffs for hundreds of miles. My parents took a padlock, and engraved their initials into it so that they could lock it against the railing." Jem indicated along the mountain ridges in the painting, as though it could suffice for a map.

"Why did they do that, is it tradition in China to lock one's possessions against mountain cliffs?" Tessa asked, taking Jem aback for the fact that no sarcasm crossed her tone. Jem was so accustomed to Will's defensive teasing that he had scarcely believed any other reaction other than doubt would arise from his tale, but that was where Tessa and Will were most different. There were never shadows in Tessa's eyes when she looked to Jem, only a curiosity that Jem found he was becoming rather fond of in these past few weeks.

"Yes, it is said that the newlyweds who lock their names against the railing secure their union under the eternal watch of the mountain," Jem answered enthusiastically, encouraged by her interest, "it is a declaration of faith to the world and to one another."

"But they still have the key," Tessa informed him, her eyes trained on the painting as though she could not look away. Jem could not look away from her as she listened, the expression on her face making his heart flutter with a strange nervousness.

"Indeed they do," he smiled, pleased by her astuteness, "and that is why, to finish the ceremony, the key is cast into the valley below by the couple in question."

She seemed shocked by this, which relieved Jem greatly for the fact that he had reacted in much the same way when his father had told him. His father's words remained still in the back of his mind, and he decided that they would be best in clarifying now.

"The key is an essential element of the union, but it is only temporary," Jem explained, replacing the painting to its stand, but keeping his back turned so that Tessa would not see how his father's old words affected him still, "it opens the lock in the beginning, and allows love to flow inwards, and it secures that love in place with the lock is closed,

"It is the only thing that can break the holy union, and it thus represents all the insecurities and doubts that exist within their minds," Jem paused, his shoulders sinking with the ghost of his father's broad palms weighing him down, "the key is a blessing and a curse, so when it is cast away it loses its power to taint the bond of marriage."

There was a distinct silence behind him as Jem waited for Tessa's reply, and when it came there was barely enough energy in it for Jem to hear.

"I was wrong, that is terribly romantic," She conceded, her voice breaking on a single laugh of disbelief. Despite himself, Jem's heart sank at her acceptance, for he had thought that she might share the same anxieties that he did.

"Yes, unless you decide that you want the key back afterwards," he said, trying to supress his own spite and failing.

"I suppose a lifetime of searching might deter one from indulging such ideas," she countered lightly, but when Jem did not answer she came to stand at his back, something that Jem wished that she'd rather not do. Jem knew that she would not understand the enormity of the act as he did, for how could she? Tessa had not been raised to interpret life on the great wheel, had not been burdened with the knowledge that one commitment could outlast a thousand lives and condemn countless souls. Jem had such precious little time left, and only one person to choose when carving his name into the lock. He would be tied to them for all eternity, through a holy bond that neither he nor his partner could escape. What if he never found them in this life? What if he was born into his next life without the knowledge that such things as locks and keys exist? Worst of all, if he did find the right person, how could he make such a sacrifice of them when he knew that they would spend the majority of their lifetime without him?

It had been his father's dearest wish, for his son to experience a love as pure as that which he and his mother shared; but his father had never lived to know the cruelty of that wish. For Jem to punish another human being in that way would be sinful; and it thus made the ceremony a lie on principle, for Jem to bind another person to his life when he knew that he would leave them shortly after. And yet, Jem wanted it more than anything else in the world, wanted to lock his name amongst the floating mountains with the one he loved to fulfil his father's final wish for him. He wanted it so badly his ears sang with the frustration of it; but he could not allow Tessa to see, would not permit himself to blame her for his own mistakes.

She placed hesitant fingers against his spine, pressing them there and leaving a pooling sense of warmness that gave him just enough courage to hide his feelings.

"Jem?" She inquired, the concern in her voice pleasing him in a way that he could barely comprehend. He turned to her, startling in the sudden proximity of their interaction. She was so very close, with eyes paler than dawn and a mouth parted in mirrored surprise.

"What if you don't find the right person Tessa?" He whispered, feeling suddenly very exposed with her face so close, and cursed himself for being so weak.

He expected her to stumble back, or at least blush for how intimate his comment was, but she took him by surprise once again when her mouth set and she held his stare with an audacity that he'd only before observed on Will, when he was challenging someone. Jem felt a sudden desire lance through his veins as the heat rushed to his face, unsure if it was the present or the memory that had affected him so.

_Perhaps Will has had some influence over her_, Jem considered, wanting to look away but unable to do so, _surely it is the familiarity of that expression that I find so alluring_

Tessa seemed fascinated by the way that the blood pooled against Jem's pale skin, and reached up before Jem could stop her and drew the back of her fingers across his cheek. His flush only deepened at the contact, and this seemed to intrigue her even more. Jem should have stepped away, cleared his throat, made excuses and sent her away before it went any further, but Jem felt more useless than he had in a very long time under the intensity of her stare.

"You will perform the ceremony _once_, because you will only meet the right person _once_, don't you think?" She smiled, her teeth flashing and eyes warm, "and when you meet them, there'll be no fear in throwing away the key, only a desire to vanquish all barriers so that you can begin eternity faster."

Jem felt as though he could not breathe. His emotions were at war in his body, and he was sure that they were blocking his airways in the midst of their struggle. Tessa's words were making him dizzy and lightheaded. She was close enough that he could feel the sweetness of her breath, and her fingers remained against his face in affection. Fear, hope and desire all intermingled into a familiar tonic that Jem thought he might never feel again; for he had felt it last when he had first kissed Will. There was an invitation in her eyes, just as there had been in Will's that evening on the water, and the instinct to accept was just as powerful as it had been then. He wanted to kiss her, wanted to take her into his arms so badly his nerves exploded with the suspense. Had it been this powerful with Will? He felt as though he were going to explode from the potency of his own anticipation. Truly there was nothing elegant about the feeling, he was shaking with the very prospect of touching her. Had he been as much of a mess when he'd kissed Will? Had Will been shaking? What would Will have done if he were in this situation?

Will. Will. _Will._

Just as quickly as he had ascended, his stomach plummeted and Jem snapped his face away from Tessa so violently that she jumped as though he'd slapped her. Terrible guilt and realisation tore at the happiness there, and churned into a foul mess that caused Jem to buckle in a sudden need to retch. Tessa swung forward as rapidly as she had retreated, her little palm sliding to his shoulder in innocent inquiry. He shook that off too, feeling as though her very concern was an act of unfaithfulness, and hid his face from her for the second time that afternoon.

"Jem, is everything alright?" She asked, but did not touch him again.

"I'm sorry," he said, keeping his back turned, "I'm afraid I don't feel very well, I tend to tire easily on cold days,"

It was not entirely a lie, but the truth of his illness carried its own discrepancy. Tessa lingered a moment longer, clearly confused by his instant change of heart, but must have been informed of his illness in enough detail to know not to question it.

"I'll leave you to rest then," she said quietly, and Jem did not trust himself to move a muscle until he heard her footsteps fade into the corridor beyond.

.

.

_I at least know one thing_, Jem concluded tiredly to himself, _that guilt is an infinite entity…_

How long had he been lying in his bed, staring up at the ceiling? It could have been hours, or mere minutes. Jem was not keeping track, but such things did matter in light of his newest realisation, and he found that its weight was such that it welded him to the bed and fastened him there, so that he had nothing to do but dwell on it for the rest of the afternoon.

Contrasting images and darkened thoughts rolled about each other jarringly in Jem's mind, and he did not know which to dwell on first. There was the haunting reminder of the Huangshan Mountains, whose significant had managed to evade Jem's attention until this unfortunate afternoon. He knew the story as he knew the halls of the institute; he had imagined the floating mountains in a thousand different ways and envisioned himself performing the marriage ceremony with a thousand different unnamed faces. When Jem had explained the concept to Tessa, he had even imagined her face in his mind; but Jem had never thought of performing the ceremony with Will. Such a thing should not have been so concerning; but after realising this fact Jem found that he could not imagine performing the ceremony with Will in any capacity, no matter how he tried.

The lock and key ceremony was not in essence a binding contract, but a symbolic promise from one person to another. In all the years they'd spent together, Will had never once promised Jem anything, as the concept of defined commitment seemed to scare him from his wits. Jem had long since accepted this fact, and had adapted his expectations accordingly; but did that mean he could never consider locking his heart away with someone else's? He and Will could never do it, as Jem never did find the key to Will's heart; he wondered if Will even had one. Without the key, there was no way for Jem to secure their love, and nothing for them to throw away. The social impropriety of their union seemed to Jem to be the least of their problems at this point. Even if they found a way to destroy the walls between them, what then would Jem have to promise to Will? Jem didn't know how much time he had left, and it would be a grave cruelty to promise a slither of his life to a man that would vastly outlive him.

There again was a contradiction that drew Jem to his next concern; Will. Indestructible, beautiful, wild, unstoppable Will. Until very recently Jem had understood Will to be the stronger one, the one who would outlast him; But the _Raum_ demon had changed that, when it drove its poison into Will and very nearly took him away from Jem in the space of a few seconds. Every last assumption of Will's strength was stripped from Jem's mind in an instant that night, as Will's body slumped against the wet grass much like a heap of rags, and blood poured from his temple to mix with the ichor already smeared across the dirt. The image made Jem sick to his core, the shock of it reverberating long past it's time. They had been lucky, incomparably so, that Will had survived, but since then everything had changed. Suddenly, Will was just as fragile as Jem was, his life every bit as fickle. If one blow from a dying demon was enough to kill him, what chance did he have against a swarm? They were taught again and again that each day could be their last as shadowhunters; but only now did Jem truly believe that such a concept applied to Will. Even if Will theoretically lived to promise himself to Jem, what would he have after Jem died? He would have nothing to show for his years, nought but a handful of memories and wasted time; time that now seemed borrowed to Jem, time that he couldn't afford to waste on something as futile as their love.

The same applied to Jem. Will had nearly died, could have been lost forever, and Jem would have been left with nothing to hold onto. There was no word for what they shared, no way to explain exactly how much Will had meant to him. Even in death their love was forbidden, and even after death they would have to hide it. Jem would not be permitted to mourn the way he needed to, and shuddered at the concept that he would have to deceive everyone even in Will's death. The thought of restraining his own agony was too vile of a concept, but that only seemed to make it weigh heavier on his mind. Jem suddenly felt feverish, as though the air around him was too thin for him to get enough. Suddenly, his throat seized up and it was all Jem could do not to topple off the bed as he was consumed with a violent throe of coughing. He gripped his sides in a sudden need to hold them together, and tried to take encouragement from the fact that no blood had appeared on his sheets.

The guilt seemed to take strength from his outburst, and he was sick with the sudden need to exit his room. Jem was not sure whether his escalating worry was making him ill, or his worsening illness was what made him worry so; all he knew was that one had a directly proportional effect on the other. Time was running out, and it was thus that time had suddenly become very precious to Jem. He had a responsibility to protect the time he had left, to make every miniscule second count; and he could not consider something so daunting in a room as restrictive as his. The light in the room become rapidly oppressive, the lack of windows suffocating him. The hard stone walls were closing in, and Jem couldn't think clearly there any longer.

.

.

He very nearly stumbled from his bedroom, yanking the door shut on his way. He cast a chaste glance behind him as he turned to his left and began toward the library. As he passed the drawing room, he heard the distinct clatter of Jessamine's glass heels against the tile, and the accompaniment of Charlotte's soft boots shuffling beside her. They were coming his way, and Jem scarcely wanted to see anyone in his state. He looked down at himself for the first time that day. He was barefoot, and without a jacket as his shirt hung loose and half buttoned over his feverish shoulders. He looked a sight worse than disrespectful, and had to take the great stairs two at a time in order to avoid Charlotte and Jesssamine as they entered the foyer below. Their voices bounced off the walls and became indistinct as Jem hurried down the corridor, unsure of where his feet were taking him until he reached the old door that lent its way into the attic. Jem had not visited the loft in weeks, and as such felt that it would be the best place to hide if he did not want to be found quickly. The door whined as he pushed it aside, and the familiarity of it calmed him a little. There was so much he was familiar with in that room, Jem knew every aspect of it down to the last dusty floorboard. A filthy arc filtered in lethargic afternoon light from the far Southern side of the room, and boxes of broken steles and worn weapons were stacked in boxes against either side of the room.

He and Will had spent so much time together up here in the beginning, when they were young and unsure of which places were truly safe from intrusion. Here they had talked and touched and done things that would have made Jem blush even now, were he not already so flustered. It was the place where they had first grown into one another, and as such it had always seemed to retain some of that blissful innocence in its composition. Here there had been only lust, curiosity and comfort; Jem remembered every stolen kiss and every whispered confession, but they seemed more like ghosts then memories to him now. He remembered the first time Will had slipped his mouth down Jem's neck against the box of shields in the far corner. He knew that he'd felt as though he might burn alive at the touch, that the desire would consume him in an instant; but he felt none of that now. All he felt was hollow as he approached that spot, felt the cold presence of something lost amongst the shadows.

How long had it been like this? It was not so long ago that they were happy together, giddy with the concept of their own intimacy. When exactly did the sensation of Will's mouth on his skin lose its ability to make Jem burn with desire? Jem couldn't comprehend feeling that way now, wasn't able to conjure up any feeling even close. He sank down into that very spot and rested his head back against the box, the way he had when Will had been with him. It was as though he were trying to fold himself into a reality that didn't fit him anymore, and he couldn't make himself small enough to feel it any longer. Life was so simple then, but now it was big, bigger than Jem's desires and even his relationship with Will. That cataclysmic pleasure didn't belong in this life, had no bearing in the grand scheme of things, and Jem wondered why Will hadn't realised that yet.

Time was running out for the both of them, no; time had never belonged to them in the first place, and it was high time that they both accepted that fact. The frenzied fight they wagered with their relationship was meaningless against the demand of time, and Jem wanted more than this empty battle. He wanted something real, something to last when he didn't; and he wanted it for Will as much as he did for himself. Time was catching up with them now, so that their love was rapidly joining the ghosts up in the attic, and Jem knew that if they didn't place this broken thing in the boxes with everything else, they would go with it.

Of course the answer had not come to Jem without some encouragement. Even though he could no longer imagine the sensations he and Will felt in this attic, he recognised their nature, for he had felt them all over again with Tessa earlier that day. That maddening moment, with her face so near; Jem felt his fingers tremble with the mere recollection of it. It was not so much the desire to kiss her that dizzied him, but the fact that he _could_ kiss her overwhelmed him to no end. Such intimacy may have been emboldened, but the fact remained that there was no social impropriety surrounding the action. Jem could have leant forward and kissed Tessa without a shred of hesitation, without the need to ensure their isolation, without the knowledge that what they were doing was forbidden. Such a freedom seemed too blissful to imagine, but Jem could not stop imagining it; he imagined kissing her in the drawing room in bold daylight; taking her hand at the dining table with every attendant watching; taking her arm in the view of strangers, and bending his face so close as to share breath.

Jem couldn't stop the images rising, and was not sure whether their subject or notion was what drew him so; but it was nonetheless that he wanted it badly. If such liberation existed, Jem would do anything to achieve it, and at any cost. The only thing he wanted more than such a freedom was the same freedom for Will. Jem couldn't bear the thought of Will's life after Jem's death, and he knew that he could never accept his own death until he was assured that Will would continue his life in Jem's absence. Jem knew now that when he had kissed Will for the first time on the docks that he had condemned Will to a life of deception and emptiness. Their love was a beautiful lie, built on the _dust and shadows_ that Will held so dearly. It had been a blissful distraction from reality for so many years, but the world had continued to turn around them and now it was time for Jem to set right what he had started. Will was still so thankfully young, but Jem nonetheless rued the years that he had taken from Will's life. It had been selfish, in so many ways, to keep Will for himself when he knew his time was limited, and it was cowardice now that he could not find the courage to end it.

Jem felt so many spiteful emotions well inside his chest that he soon became numb with it, and wondered how long he had been sitting on the dirty floor this way. A small part of the roof had weathered away, and freezing water was dripping onto the floor by Jem's leg. He reached out his palm to feel the drops against his skin, and used it as a grounding tool for his scattered emotions. The steady rhythm of the leak was just beginning to soothe him when the door of the attic creaked aside and Will burst into the room with a haste that almost made Jem create a new hole in the roof.

When Will spotted him slouched by the window, his face sank into multiple varieties of concern and relief that made Jem feel guiltier than ever, before he pulled the door shut behind him and came to stand at Jem's feet with his arms crossed expectantly.

"You told Tessa that you were ill, and wanted to be alone," he explained, as though the statement had acted as invitation for him to come.

"So naturally you came to find me?" Jem accused him, turning away from Will's stare and toward the expanse of the window.

"You look feverish, have you taken enough today?" Will inquired, ignoring him completely and forcing Jem to turn his face by hooking his fingers against his jawline. Wills pressed his palm against Jem's forehead, which Jem shook off lethargically in the need to keep his distance from Will.

"Your skin is burning," Will said quietly, clearly hurt that Jem had rejected his touch.

"I'm fine; I was only making excuses earlier with Tessa in order to be alone." Jem murmured, glancing pointedly at Will from the corner of his eye. He thought he saw the smallest smile play across Will's face before he answered, "well hasn't it worked? Tessa has clearly left you alone,"

Jem released a great sigh and did not answer, only listened as Will paced about the room lazily, seemingly taking in its dank appearance.

"God, we haven't been together up here in a long time," Jem heard a pause, and guessed that Will was smiling, "do you remember the things we used to do in this room? Surprised it's still in one piece."

Jem did remember, and it caused him such pain that he rested his forehead against the glass surface of the window, for it was suddenly too heavy for him to hold up. Another pause ensued, before footfalls approached and Will dropped down behind Jem quietly. Will wound his arms around Jem from behind and rested his lips against the exposed part of Jem's neck gently. Jem closed his eyes and resisted the urge to let his head fall back onto Will's shoulder.

_He's carried me for far too long already_, Jem thought to himself bitterly, _If I don't stop it now I'll never be able to,_

Will kissed his neck again, this time lingering, "Do you remember this?"

The heat of Will's breath against his neck was so comforting that Jem very nearly lost his resolve, but drew just enough strength to pull himself from Will's arms and clamber to his feet.

"I'm tired Will, I want to rest," Jem said dispassionately, holding out his hand to help Will up. Will hesitated in confusion, but soon rose without Jem's assistance.

"Very well, I suppose we could both use a little extra sleep after all, did I even come to bed last night?" Will pondered, turning to make his way to the door without acknowledgment of the fact that Jem had not moved.

"Will," Jem said, hearing his own voice catch on the difficulty of the words, "this has to stop."

Will's shoulders stiffened, and Jem opened his mouth to speak again before Will cut him off, "I know you feel obligated to challenge me every night on our sleeping arrangements, but I was rather hoping that we could take a break tonight and just-"

"I don't just mean tonight," Jem burst forth, before he lost his nerve, "I'm talking about everything,"

Will turned to him then, so fast that for once there was no grace in the action, but the reality of Jem's words hadn't yet reached his face.

"If you want so desperately to sleep alone Jem, you can do so," Will conceded, frowning at Jem as though he were unimpressed with whatever game Jem was playing.

"This isn't about the beds for God's sake Will," Jem exclaimed, "we can't go on like this, not anymore."

They shared a moment, where Will's face dropped and his chest began to rise in uneven motions. Jem's chest ached when he saw the same fear he was feeling fall over Will's face, as Will finally registered what Jem was saying. He took a few steps toward where Jem was standing, reaching out a hand that never found its mark.

"Jem, please. I know we've fallen on hard times recently, but there's no need to jump so hastily to this conclusion," Will appealed, his tone slipping quickly into pleading, "you're not well. Let's get some sleep, and we'll talk about this in the morning."

"There's nothing hasty about this conclusion Will, you and I both know it, and we've put it off far too long," Jem returned without pause, causing Will to flinch and something in Jem's stomach to pull painfully.

"Please Jem; can't we leave it for now?" Will begged, his palms open and vulnerable.

"I can't, you know I cant. It's killing us, can you see that it's wearing us down each day?" Now Jem's palms were the ones open to Will, imploring him to understand, to see reason. Will backed away from Jem's hands suddenly, and as he stumbled Jem realised that Will's shoulders were shaking.

"Will-" Jem began desperately, his heart wrenching at the sight of it.

"What do you want from me?" Will barked back, suddenly angry to the point that his hands balled into tight fists, "You've been pushing me away for months on end and I've let you, because I thought you wanted some time to think. I've given you everything and you've cast it away time and time again. You want to do this now? Then tell me what you want from me, because I really don't know what I have left to give."

Jem had anticipated a thousand different reactions on Will's part, and this had been one of them; but it took Jem aback nonetheless. Jem had anticipated the anger many times, but had not anticipated his answer. What was he supposed to say? Will would never accept Jem's explanation, would never allow Jem to sacrifice any aspect of his life for Will's sake. Jem needed to appeal to Will in a way that he would understand, and the only thing that Will understood was his own devotion to Jem. This way it would be cruel, but Jem knew from his own experience with the Silent Brothers that often kindness was not enough. Sometimes the gentle path didn't exist, and when kindness was gone, cruelty was the only kindness left to offer.

"Everything? You give me nothing Will. You put so many barriers between us that I barely know you at all," Jem hissed back, hating his own words but hating the truth of them more.

"You know I give you everything I _can_, surely you know," Will retorted, though his anger had rapidly lost its sting at the turn of the conversation.

"I don't know, that's the problem. What part of your life could be so sinister that you can't share it with your _Parabatai_? Tell me." Jem demanded, feeling as though some exterior determination was pulling the strings on his body so that his shoulders set and his knees stayed their ground, because underneath it all he was falling apart for the boy before him.

Will winced as though he'd been struck, and his face twisted into a greater confliction than Jem had ever seen it. He almost seemed as though he was going to tell Jem, but something greater than the desire to confess held him back, something that Jem knew he'd never conquer.

"I _can't_," Will returned miserably, his eyes pinching as though the restraint hurt him, "I give you everything I can, I always have."

He was such a mess, the instinct to console him ran so deep that his feet were carrying him toward Will before he had the chance to check his own actions. The wild hope that flared in Will's expression made Jem's eyes sting with tears as he forced himself to cease, and very nearly killed himself with the effort of looking into Will's eyes when he said, "It's not enough. Not anymore."

Will's whole body seemed to shake, and Jem worried that he was cutting his palms for how white his fists were strained over the bones there. He opened his mouth, and had not the attic been silent, Jem might not have heard Will whisper his name on the smallest breath, one filled with enough hurt and fear to make the tears in Jem's eyes fall freely. He let them, reasoning that this could be his small allowance, so that Will could know how much this hurt him as well.

"I don't want to hide anymore Will. I want to marry someone, and have a family. Don't you?" Jem implored him, coming closer but not touching him, "What do we really have, after all? How can I be satisfied with this when I'm afraid to even look at you across the dining table?"

Will said nothing, but merely began to shake his head back and forth in response to all Jem was saying. He ran a shuddering hand through his hair, but it was so unsteady that it only made it worse.

"Our time is limited Will, and if we die tomorrow, we will have died without anything to show for ourselves, doesn't that scare you?" Jem knew that his words were falling flat with his own distaste. Will didn't seem to notice, and appeared as though he couldn't actively look away from Jem's face.

"There are things that scare me more," he replied quietly, only defeat in his voice, "like losing you,"

"You'll have to live without me soon enough regardless," Jem hastened, feeling his resolve crumble each second with every tear blurred blink, "and I want you to move on and forget about me, can't you honour that wish?"

Will shook his head again, finally casting his eyes away from Jem, "That isn't possible… Not for me,"

"Why?" Jem exclaimed, but took a breath when Will did not reply, and began again, "Then, if you won't accept that, can you accept that something like that _is_ possible for me?"

Will hesitated, his face very still. Jem heard the drip of the leak on the floorboards, but realised with a sharp inhalation that the sound had come from Will's tears sliding off his face onto the ground below.

"And you want that, to move on?" Will asked so quietly that Jem had to strain to hear. He sounded so vulnerable, almost like a child. Jem considered for a wild moment taking it all back, just pretending that he was delirious from the fever and begging Will to forgive him. They could make it work somehow, find a way to return to that blissful place of love and comfort. For the briefest glimpse of time Jem truly believed it his desire was so great, but Jem saw in Will's defeated face that he'd gone too far this time, and there was no returning.

"Yes, that is what I want," Jem lied, feeling as though every nerve in his body were dying, so that all he felt was a numb hatred for himself, and heartbreak for Will. The longest silence passed between them, where Will stared at the floor and Jem waited, for anything; for any sign that what he said had registered in Will's mind. Jem took a step forward and Will jumped back as though his very presence were poison, the violence of which seemed to startle them both.

Jem caught Will's eye just fast enough to capture the moment of raw agony that swam in the storm of his eyes. It contorted his face and shaped it into an expression so painful that for the first time in his life Jem saw no beauty in Will at all. As quickly as it had come however, it was smoothed over as though no emotion had ever existed, and Jem watched as the turbulence of Will's eyes froze over to become something that Jem had seen a thousand times, but never once directed at himself. Will slid the unaffected mask over his face like a glove, and it broke Jem's heart so effectively that he nearly doubled over with the feeling. As Jem leant forward, Will backed off slightly, as though a new physical barrier had come into existence between them, and Will allowed Jem a moment before inquiring dryly, "So what happens now?"

Jem glanced back up at Will, bewildered, "I… I don't know-"

"_Parabatai_ runes are a touch difficult to remove, and it isn't likely that we'll be able to avoid each other in this place-"

"Remove what?! Will, what are you saying?" Jem gasped, his hand flying protectively over the spot where his _parabatai_ rune rested. Will's face didn't change, but he raised one eyebrow, as though Jem were the one that needed to explain himself.

"Well I don't know what you expect from me James, after all, you're the one who wanted to end this," Will indicated his finger back and forth between the both of them lightly, making Jem's stomach drop. How could he seem so cold when there were still the shining tracks of tears down his cheeks? Jem had never imagined what it would feel like to be on the receiving end of Will's act, but knew instantly that he could not allow it.

"Come now Will, before we were lovers, I swear we were friends," Jem appealed sadly, searching Will's face for something- anything to assure him that all was not lost.

Will's mouth twisted at his words, as though they were sour to his taste, and his next reply was almost rueful, "It isn't that simple,"

"I know, but I'm willing to do whatever it takes, are you?" Jem asked, not trying in the slightest to hide the fear in his voice.

Will considered Jem for the longest time, raking his eyes from Jem's face all the way to his feet thrice over, as though he wanted to make sure he remembered every inch of Jem's body as it was then, hurt and pleading for him to stay.

Jem thought he saw something stir in Will's eyes for a moment, but it must have been a catch of the light, because when Will straightened, there wasn't a trace of it left.

.

.

"_If there's nothing more I can do for you Jem, then there isn't any point in us associating any longer," Will announced plainly, turning on his heel and sweeping from the room before the next drop of water hit the ground._

__**If you were wondering, the lock and key tradition in the Huangshan Mountains is real, and couples still go there today to carve their initials into a lock, and place it against the railing.**

**So this fic is nearing it's end, and I thank you all sincerely for the devotion you've shown in adversity (being all my scatty hiatuses)**

**sorry for any typos, they're as bad as the lane at the intersection where the light seems frozen on red.**

**You can't beat them, but you sure can hate them.**

**Please remember to review, because I miss you guys and want to hear from you**

**beta'd by the lovely Tash, who is as happy as I am that exams are finally over**

**Chloe :)**


	10. Has Sorrow thy Young days Shaded

__**Hello again!**

**Once again, I'm sorry this chapter took so long, it was a real challenge and even now I'm not entirely happy with it.**

**CHALLENGE TIME!**

**This is our second last official chapter together (sobs), but I want to give you guys something more before it's over, but I'm going to make you work for it because life's more fun that way...**

**CHALLENGE 1: Get this fic to 40 reviews and I'll include a special bonus chapter, set toward the end of Clockwork Prince.**

**CHALLENGE 2: Get this fic to 50 reviews, and I will compose a list of _everything _Will and Jem got up to in that attic. ;)**

**CHALLENGE 3: Fun one, if anyone can find the song lyrics I've hidden in the previous chapter: _Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust_, and tell me which song they're from, I'll rewrite an event of their choice from the reversed perspective of Jem or Will :) (here's a hint, it's hidden in the dialogue)**

**So there guys, let's have some fun :D**

**But first, please enjoy the chapter, and don't forget to tell me what you think.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own the characters of the Infernal Devices or their universe, they belong to Cassandra Clare, who is the president of my feels and should be supreme ruler of the adolescent world.**

_Has sorrow thy young days shaded,__  
__As clouds o'er the morning fleet?__  
__Too fast have those young days faded__  
__That, even in sorrow, were sweet?__  
__Does Time with his cold wing wither__  
__Each feeling that once was dear? -__  
__Then, child of misfortune, come hither,__  
__I'll weep with thee, tear for tear._

_Has Sorrow Thy Young Days Shaded__ - __Thomas Moore~_

_._

_The door clattered against its frame violently; and in the same moment Will was running._

_._

_._

_._

He did not know whether Jem intended to follow him, or if he wanted Jem to or not; but he was moving so quickly that he could think only of what was ahead, rather than what waited behind him. He flew down the grand staircase so fast he barely comprehended how his balance persevered, but momentarily thanked his runes for carrying him safely when he could not see his way. His vision was a watery blur, and his pace sent the tears streaming past his cheeks before they had the chance even to fall. It was pathetic how instantly his strength had left him, and he knew that the second he stopped he wouldn't be able to start again; so even when he burst through the gates of the institute and into the blinding rain, he did not falter.

The deluge blanketed everything, so that Will could not see beyond the rivets his outstretched fingers made as he stumbled through the street. His clothes were drenched in seconds, and the fabric of his jacket slapped against his chest wildly when he moved. As he searched for some bearing in the darkness, Will thought he heard the sound of footsteps behind him, approaching fast. He did not know if they were coming for him, but the thought of confronting a familiar face at that moment horrified him enough to pick up speed, despite his disorientation. The heavens opened above and the rain changed direction, pushing against him violently as though trying to force him backwards. He swiped the hair from his eyes impatiently, nearly tearing it out for how frustrated it made him.

Water ran in streams along the carriage tracks in the road, and when Will tripped they splattered against his shirtfront brown and filthy. His ankle twisted and Will cried out for the pain it caused him. He lifted himself from the dirt and tested it gingerly, nearly toppling over again when it buckled. It may have been broken, but when Will heard a shout of warning and a fast moving thunder through the rain, he was forced to abandon his worry. A carriage charged into sight and two great horses nearly trampled him in their path. Will leapt out of the way, but the pain of using his ankle reverberated up his entire leg and very nearly made him faint upon landing. He careened into a side street that felt very familiar, and he used the walls of the buildings alongside the road to guide his path. His stele was dirtied but intact inside his coat pocket, so Will leant against the nearest doorway and carved an ungraceful _iratze_ into his leg, above the line of his drenched sock. After the initial sting, his ankle began to throb less, and Will found that he could once again place his weight on it without falling. He hobbled down the street, and was discouraged to hear the sound of a raging current close ahead. As the rain thinned a little Will recognised Blackfriars Bridge, slick in the rain and almost rocking with the force of the overrun Thames below. Will swore under his breath, cursing his own sense of direction for bringing him here, one of the first places Jem would look. More than that, the familiarity of the bridge brought back all the agony that his physical pain had until now distracted from. Will wondered absent-mindedly if he'd stopped crying, or whether the rain had simply drowned all the tears out with it. He and Jem shared a thousand lazy memories here, of long afternoons watching the river pass by and hanging their feet over the edge. They talked and dreamed here, and it was all too much for Will to take.

There was an avenue just before the bridge, stinking of Thames and old fish. Will found an abandoned alcove there, close enough to the water's edge that Will could have sworn he felt the salt spray on his face, and sunk down into it gratefully. His ankle was beginning to throb again; Will decided that he had indeed broken it, and had probably slowed the process of healing it severely by walking here. Will welcomed the pain; tried to use it as a distraction against all the other forms of agony he was experiencing. He revelled in its simplicity, and its finite nature; to know that this wound would heal on its own was a wonderful consolation to have. But the pain Will felt in his heart was not so forgiving, and as the exhaustion began to settle about his shoulders he felt the entirety of its effect at last.

Jem. His Jem. The only thing in this life he had allowed himself to love fully, to love carelessly. Will had given himself to Jem like he had never been able to with any other, and now it meant nothing. Jem wanted to _move on _with what was left of his life. Wanted marriage, wanted a family. Jem wanted everything and Will had failed to give it to him; Will had given Jem all he could and it hadn't been enough.

Will was not enough for Jem any more.

But Will had always known the limitations involved in his and Jem's relationship; had always known that there was something that he would never share with Jem. Even in their last moments, Will had not had the courage to break the final barrier that stood between he and Jem, could not have given him the one thing that may have made a difference. Will ran his fingers through his hair and found them shaking. He tightened their grip and pulled at the hair there angrily, as though the new pain could punish his hands for their weakness. It was his fault after all, so there was no justification in the self-pity he was feeling.

The reason that he could never tell Jem of his curse was because it revealed Will's true intention of sacrificing Jem for his own self benefit. Jem was clever, and would have been drawn quickly to the realisation that Will confided in him for the fact that his illness limited him already to the point that Will's love would not limit him much further. This would be for Jem the only reason, and the thought of his despair at that conclusion scared Will more than anything else in his entire life. Even when Jem was tearing him apart Will could not hurt him, and for that he had to keep his secrets, and suffer the consequences.

He supposed he deserved this, Jem had been right after all. Their love was a futile mess, and they had both known it since the very beginning. Jem had precious time left and Will had taken a gratuitous portion of it for himself, regardless of its effect on Jem. Will had never really considered Jem's part in it at all, had he? He was forever worried that Jem was ill, that he was thin, or malnourished or weak; but had he ever once worried about whether Jem was happy? _Truly_ happy? Such things had seemed redundant in the face of more trying problems, and Jem's health had rapidly overcome every faculty of Will's regard for him, so that his medical state was something he merely associated with Jem's emotions. He was either healthy or unwell, and for that Will had done Jem a great injustice. Jem needed someone who could see through those things and love him as an equal, and Will could not give him that. Will could respect Jem's wishes, could do his bidding and fight alongside him as _Parabatai_, but could never force Jem's wellbeing from his mind entirely. Was that what Jem wanted? Will had never taken the time to ask Jem what he wanted, and it was only now that Will realised how selfish his love was.

Perhaps that was part of his curse, this destructive love he gave. Maybe the demon had broken him, and given him an incomplete heart that only knew how to take what it wanted and leave the rest behind. Will had been blind, and Jem had suffered for it far too long, and now he was taking back what was his.

So how could Will deny him?

But then, what was left without Jem? Will's life had wheeled and tumbled around the same vector for so many years. Jem lived at the centre of everything Will did and thought, and he wasn't sure he knew how to alter that action now. Will's life was over, had been since the moment he opened that _pyxis, _and without Jem it no longer had meaning. Jem wanted to remain friends, but such things weren't possible. How could he survive, if he remained by Jem's side, only to watch him grow and love in all the ways Will knew he never could? It would be Hell, one that Jem could not comprehend, for Will had never given him the correct tools in order to do so. Will had taken so much from Jem. He had taken his friendship when Will was lonely; his loyalty as _Parabatai _when Will had needed companionship_;_ his love when it had suited Will; his innocence when Will was corrupted; his body when Will desired it; and his happiness when it was an inconvenience to Will.

Jem had given everything, and given it all without consideration of taking anything back; so now that Jem was finally taking back, why did it hurt Will so badly? Water rolled of Will and was carving small rivers into the formerly dry stones of the alcove, and he felt as though his energy was being drained away from him by their currents. He leant his head back and closed his eyes, imagining what life he had remaining at the institute now. Without Jem there was nothing left for him, nothing except sadness, and the loneliness he had always known would come for him eventually. He would see love, watch it kindle amongst others and bloom into something unfathomably beautiful. He would admire the way it grew with time, and marvel at its glow, and then he would die. Will would never feel it for himself, and did not know whether he could bear the pain of watching Jem do so with someone else.

"_Will!"_

Will's eyes flew open at the sound of his own name, stretched over the chaos of the rain. It came again, echoing over the water and spreading like fog. Will could barely hear it over the storm, and scarcely recognised the voice, but was astonished by the fact that it must have come from the bridge.

"_Will, please!" _It pleaded desperately, and it was that desperation that made Will recognise it as Jem's voice. Jem was calling for him, begging in the rain, and Will felt his every muscle contract. The night was freezing, and the rain was pounding the ground as forcefully as ever. Jem was standing on a bridge, completely exposed to both of those things. Will forgot his ankle and his thoughts, completely forgot them for a wild moment. Jem was ill, caught in this storm because of him. Despite everything, Will's instinct to protect Jem nearly overpowered his every resolve, and it nearly killed him to remain within the dirty alcove.

Will's instinct was to protect Jem, but Jem did not want to be protected. Will wanted to go to Jem for all the reasons he shouldn't, and for that he forced himself to sink back into his seat as the calls continued. Jem's voice faded over time, and eventually dissipated completely into the surrounding rain, leaving Will feeling emptier than he could have thought possible.

.

.

.

Everything_, Will lamented, feeling a strange numbness spread through his limbs so that he was no longer able to move, _I have lost everything…

**Bit of a short one, and only one chapter to go :'(**

**remember the challenges guys so drop a review because every single one counts (and I kind of need them to live)**

**sorry for any typos, they're like the perpetual dirty spot on your windscreen, so we all need to learn to squint around them.**

**Beta'd by the lovely Tash, who knows where those lyrics are (I've had to tie her fingers together so she wont type the cat out the bag)**

**Chloe :)**


	11. A Divine Image

**Its finally here! The last official chapter for this fic.**

**To all those who have read and reviewed this story, I cannot express to you how grateful I am, especially to those who have diligently reviewed every chapter. You guys are the reason I love to write, and I'll always appreciate you're support.**

**Please enjoy this last instalment, and now more than ever I'd love to hear all your closing thoughts, before the bonus material starts (and there's a lot of it)**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any part of the Infernal Devices material, they are part of Cassandra Clare's imagination and I would simply like to live in it. This is what I do instead, more legal.**

_"Mae angel ar y ffordd, mae diafol yn y lle tân"_

_~An Angel on the road, a Devil at the fireplace. ~_

_._

_No one was waiting for him when Will returned to the Institute. He thought this to be most appropriate, but the fact sank to the bottom of his stomach like a hard stone nonetheless._

.

.

Rain was still thundering against the window panes as he passed them, and he was casting streams of dirty water across the runner with every step he took. He wondered at how dark the halls had grown, and guessed that it must be some time in the early morning, because there wasn't a shred of witchlight to guide him. He fumbled his way along a path he really did not have to consider, for he had travelled it so many times that he was sure the carpet would have his tracks inlaid into it by now.

It was extraordinary, really, how well he knew his way about a place he had never called home. There were a thousand lines in his head, an intricate mapping of memories and emotions that tied him to every inch of this place, but never to the institute itself. Will had found home in every stolen moment and new discovery within these walls, and they lingered in their corners like ghosts in the looming darkness. Will realised that he did not want to go near his room, for the memories of he and Jem together there were too painful, but truly there was not a single room free of such vice. Jem waited in every room, and Will wondered why he ever thought he could find respite here.

He continued on and considered his options, but did not notice that his legs were taking him automatically to the place he had always gone for comfort; the worst possible place he could go.

Jem's room.

There was light peeking under the doorway, but silence pressed inward, with such pressure that Will feared that he would wake the entire building with his mere breath. There was a determination to stay away, and every justification for avoidance. But there was another force, something buried in his bones ancient and resolute, which was pulling him toward Jem's room. Will was taken by surprise, more than anything. Was it the _Parabatai_ rune? No, it ran deeper than that, and Will knew that he had felt it before, a great many times. It was the thing that always drew him to Jem, but it was not something that Will had ever viewed as involuntary. He felt tired, to the point that he swayed where he stood, and his ankle was throbbing terribly from having carried him all the way there.

The pull persisted past that, as though trying to convince him that relief, sweet rest and sanctuary, still awaited him behind the bedroom door. It was wrong, all so wrong; he was hurt and there were boundaries now that he couldn't cross, drawn by the very person his legs were carrying him to. Did Jem feel this way as well? He couldn't, for he had been the one to end things, had the courage that Will didn't. This feeling made Will a coward, and it was that same cowardice that drove Will those last few steps and into Jem's room, despite everything.

Jem was sitting upright against the panelling of his bed, and for a heart shattering moment Will thought that he was awake; but his eyes were closed and his head tilted back against the wall, asleep in a position that Will doubted was comfortable. Light leaked from the spaces between Jem's fingers, where a witchlight still rested loosely. There was no book in front of him, or sheet s of music crumpled under his legs as Will might have expected.

_He was waiting for me,_ Will noted with a painful twist of his stomach, _why would he do something so foolish?_

Why had Jem waited for him, as though nothing had changed? Had he really expected Will to come back, much less to his room? Will tried to ignore the fact that he had done both of those things, while he inched his way closer to the bed. He should have never entered, and he should have turned to leave before he woke Jem with his noisy shuffling. Will was still wet and was leaving tracks on Jem's floor that might not dry before morning. Will didn't even know how far away dawn was, and Jem could wake at any moment for all he knew. However, Will could not deny the fact that the knots in his stomach had eased the moment he had caught sight of Jem, and was ashamed to admit that he was afraid to leave so soon. Against all that was proper in the situation, Will leant down and threaded his arms around Jem's shoulders, so that he could inch the boy down without rousing him from his sleep.

Will lowered Jem against the pillows, and he felt Jem exhale his relief against Will's shoulder, making him shiver from something other than the cold. Will righted his sheets, so he was covered to the chin, and lingered for a moment just watching Jem's face. At Will's every accidental touch, a thread of tension loosened about Jem's brow, and the tight line of his mouth eased into something that finally resembled peace. It made something familiar yawn open in Will's chest, filling with affection and a newfound pain, from where is had been damaged by Jem's wishes.

The air whistled in and out of Jem's throat, and Will realised with a great deal of anger that Jem had weakened himself by chasing him into the rain. Will cursed Jem in silence for his idiocy, and berated himself for not considering how his actions would affect Jem's health. Even after all that had been said and done, Will had still put Jem in danger, for his own selfish motives. Light as a feather, Will brushed the back of his fingers across Jem's forehead, and startled at how heat radiated from it.

Again Will's touch made Jem relax, and when Will pulled away Jem strained toward him in the weakest of ways, making Will's heart sink and spin at the same time. He should have anticipated that Jem would still have this physical effect on him, and he felt himself pulling toward Jem as Jem did to him. His hurts seemed dulled by the soft light of the room, his exhaustion easy and tempting. His own chair stood beside him, where it had always been. Surely he could rest a while, if not simply to watch over Jem in his sickness? That had been his duty after all, before they had been drawn into the messy business of being lovers, and Will felt that this role at least he could endure, for a mere hour or two.

He sank into the chair with much appreciation, feeling at last as though he could lower his guard. He watched the moon rest along Jem's shoulders, dipping hither and thither with each hollow breath he took. Will began to count the movements out of habit, one after the other, until his eyes became too heavy for the task. For a blessed moment, Will felt as though nothing had changed, and at any moment Jem would wake and invite Will into his bed shyly, just as he had done when they were children. The morning was so calm, so serene; Will couldn't imagine how the memory of the previous day could exist in a moment as perfect as this one.

Perhaps it didn't, perhaps everything had been one great and awful dream. What if Will had imagined it all, all the love and all the pain, and had finally woken to find that nothing had changed? Jem was so perfect, so utterly perfect in his sleep; there was no sign left of their argument, of the truths he had spoken. Will wanted it to be true so badly that he felt sobs choke him in their haste to escape his throat. He bit them back, not wanting to wake Jem and shatter the perfect moment he had created; because, immaculate as it was, Will knew what waited once it past.

It was the truth that choked him, the knowledge that all this was in pretending, and that they would never find their way back to this reality again; so Will rested his head against his shoulder, and forced his eyes to take in as much of the moment as they could before they dropped. It was not real, this moment, but it was his to keep; and Will wanted to hold this night within him forever, so that he would always know what it felt like, to be so at ease with the world around him, to be at home.

Will closed his eyes, seeing every memory through a clouded mist, so that they were the imaginings and this moment was real. Sleep came soon after, and Will welcomed it as a friend.

.

.

"Have mercy on your breakfast Will, did you catch your death out in the storm last night?" Charlotte asked casually, edging her voice around a tea cup.

Will glanced up from his toast, having spent the last few minutes spreading the same quantity of butter across it again and again, his mind not entirely present. Charlotte had one brow raised, disapproving as usual, but with more than a little concern softening the emotion. Will was caught off guard, not having considered the idea that Charlotte had searched for him as well the night before.

"How did you-"

"There is still a festive pattern of old water on the entrance carpet," Charlotte answered brusquely, the clipped nature of her words giving him the impression that it was not the only evidence he had left.

Will had woken with a jolt that morning, when the sun was just high enough to gather about the legs of his chair. He had slept there the entire night, and was prepared to find Jem looming over him, demanding explanation or his leave. Jem however, to Wills relief, was still asleep a few feet away, his body a smooth curve beneath the sheets. He had rolled over in the night, and was facing Will almost as though he had been looking at him. Had he woken and found Will in his room? Will did not know, and the thought alone made him too nervous to consider it.

He had left the room in haste, and bathed the previous night from his skin rigorously. At breakfast he had felt the stares of everyone on him, but was sure that, apart from a slight limp, he bore no signs of his previous adventure.

"How does such a fact incriminate me? Perhaps Jessamine was the one to leave it there," Will suggested, wanting Charlotte's gaze off him as soon as possible.

Jessamine scoffed at such a suggestion, playing with her food as much as Will was, though hers was borne from distaste rather than absentmindedness.

"If I thought parading about in the rain would rid me of company such as yours William," she stated in a bored drone, "I would have danced till my knees gave out. Yet here you are."

"Perhaps Tessa then?" Will continued, having noted her absence a short while before.

"Tessa was one of the first to notice your absence last night, and would have gone out looking for you had I not assured her that it was a common occurrence," Charlotte informed Will, her eyes accusatory, "I cannot say the same for Jem. He ran out the front doors before we could stop him, and is clearly ill for it,"

Charlotte gestured across the width of the table, indicating that Jem had not yet attended breakfast. Will felt the leaden weight in his stomach thicken with the guilt of her accusations, and he abandoned the mutilated toast to his plate. Charlotte seemed to realise the harsh nature of her words, but before she could right them a soft reply came from the doorway.

"Do not scold Will for my choices Charlotte, it's not like he doesn't blame himself already." Jem said tiredly, immediately locking his gaze to Will's. It was so sudden, this attention, and Will had not the opportunity to avoid it before it was thrust upon him. Will watched blankly as Jem's face fell into multiple shades of pain and sadness, a gesture so blatant and unbecoming of Jem that Will was too surprised to look away. It was what lay in his eyes, behind the façade of sadness that made his throat clench and chest ache. There was pity, hidden in the silver of Jem's stare, deep enough that only Will could see it.

Disgust, so potent and sudden rose in him, and without his consent Will heard a hiss escape from between his own teeth, audible enough to draw the attention of everyone else at the table. He took the opportunity to drop his gaze, and focused it instead on the shivers that dimpled the surface of his tea, as attendants shifted and shuffled about the breakfast table. There was a clear hesitation, as Jem remained standing and Charlotte glanced between them both, before conversation stumbled forward once more and Jem took his seat.

Will could see the cuffs of his sleeves from the corner of his eye, and though he was making conversation with the rest of the table, Jem's attention was clearly trained on Will. There was no subtlety in such a determination, and for that fact Will felt his neck tingle with discomfort. No matter how he tried, he could not stop imagining the pity in Jem's face, the sympathy Jem felt for _him, _as though he was the only one to be hurt by Jem's decision. Perhaps he was, but the fact remained that any show of pity from his _Parabatai_ set his stomach churning, and the longer he sat enduring it the closer he came to throwing up all over his clean clothes.

Will felt Jem's stare sizzling against his skin, and was vacantly aware that Charlotte had addressed him, but his limit was reached and he didn't answer. Will rose from his seat with such a lurching motion that both Charlotte and Jessamine jumped, and stalked from the room without giving Jem a second glance.

.

.

As soon as he was out of sight, Will's anger turned inward once again. How did he keep finding himself running away like this? He had never run away from battle, not when fanged demons loomed larger than the sky before him. Yet, when a fragile, beautiful boy cast him a pitying glance, Will was out the door in seconds. How had his life become so twisted?

His frustration was almost painful, and he needed nothing more than to release it all through hard, merciless training, something he hadn't done in quite a while. His ankle was still too weak to train on, but that wouldn't stop him from practicing his dagger work for a few hours. He entered the training room in a huff, and almost didn't see Tessa standing by one of the sword shelves. She had her back turned, and was seemingly unaware that he had entered. In her palms was a bow, the weapon long and pale in her little hands. She was running her fingers over faint marks that had been etched into the wood, and Will recognised the bow as Jem's.

"Now now, we shouldn't touch what isn't ours," Will teased, but there was no energy in the action.

Nonetheless, taken by surprise, Tessa spun around and nearly dropped the bow in her haste. A great blush painted her cheeks at having been caught sneaking through shadowhunter property, but she remained where she was in a determination to explain.

"I apologise," she said bashfully, casting her eyes to her feet, "I meant no offense; I just saw the markings and was curious."

"Always so curious, you'll be going through our drawers next," Will replied, though his eyes were now drawn to the bow in her grip as well. He supposed that the business of Jem's things being trifled with was no longer his concern, so his own curiosity to touch the thing was as meaningless as Tessa's. He marched forward and relieved her of the weapon, which she gave up almost gratefully.

"The character there, it's Chinese, isn't it?" Tessa pressed, seeming to ignore Will's last comment, "Is the bow Jem's?"

Her fingers brushed over the etching in question, and her skin met his for the briefest of moments. A familiar spark shot its way through his nerves, and he knew Tessa felt it as well, for she snapped her hands back to her sides as though he had shocked her. He fought the urge to smile, having been in the same situation a thousand times before. Women were always the same this way, acting as though his touch was poison even though he knew they liked it. Tessa's face made that evident now, with her constant blushing and averted stares. It was a practiced game, but he had tired of it many years ago, and filled the void it had left with Jem.

What remained there now? With what should he fill it?

Tessa seemed to be waiting for an answer, but Will did not give her one. He had tired of company already this morning, and wanted to be alone once more. He raised the bow in the intention of placing it back in its holder, but one of the carvings caught his eye, and he held very still.

希望

"Can you read them?" Tessa asked eagerly, noticing his sudden interest.

Will remembered lethargically that she was there, and had half a mind to tell her to go bother someone else. He noticed the way her eyes trained on him in a manner that was intense yet impersonal, and he knew that his anger toward her was unreasonable. It was not Will she was focused on in that moment, though she was polite enough to pretend that it was. All she wanted was the knowledge he had to offer, and for that blessed fact he found the desire to tell her.

"Yes I can read them," he answered, rather wishing he couldn't, "but only because Jem taught me their meaning, I know little else of the language."

"May I?" She inquired, reaching the pull the bow to her level, so that she and Will were both holding it at the same time, "They're so beautiful, they must have taken him a long time."

"I suppose," Will said, but in truth he remembered sitting with Jem as he had carved each word over time, and knew exactly how long it had taken. Tessa had disarmed him however, as she had a habit of doing, with her unrestrained interest and careless questions. She lacked refinement entirely, and Will was not sure if it was due to her isolation or if it was just the way she had been born. Either way he found it appealing a good most of the time, in a world of secrets and withheld things, her honesty was refreshing.

"What does this one mean?" She asked, brushing her fingers over the one that was clearly her favourite.

速度.

"That is _Sùdù_, which means speed," Will recited, recalling Jem's explanation with more clarity than he thought he could, "For swiftness in battle."

She nodded slowly, dragging her fingers down to the next word, which Will announced without prompting.

勇气.

"_Yǒngqì_, which is courage,"

Tessa scrutinised the mark, "courage in battle?"

"Courage in everything, as courage gives a shadowhunter the reassurance to do what is right," Will corrected, thinking to himself darkly that Jem had plenty of courage. Tessa, unaware of such thoughts, indicated to the next for Will to translate.

荣誉.

"Honour, pronounced _Róngyù_." Will did not want to look at the bow anymore, because he knew there was only one word left, and he had no interest in explaining it.

"Honour in victory?" Tessa ventured, so interested that Will resisted the urge to laugh at her, for how wide her eyes were.

"On one level, sometimes the most honour lies in knowing when to choose mercy over malice," Will said, the dread in the pit of his stomach almost palpable.

"And the last?" She indicated, but Will did not look. He did not have to, for it had been the mark to still his hand moments before. It was an all-encompassing phrase, one that gave fire to some who used it and burnt those like Will who did not have it.

希望.

_Xīwàng._

Hope.

He explained as much to Tessa, who seemed genuinely confused by it. She asked how hope was helpful in the heat of battle, and Will knew that he would have to delve deeper.

"Hope is everything, it is these marks and in battle itself. Hope is what keeps us alive."

"The marks give Jem hope," Tessa pondered, her brow furrowing as though it were a foreign concept, "do they work?"

Will laughed, an awful sound when there was no humour in it, and turned away from her dismissively.

"How should I know? You'll have to ask the artisan himself,"

Tessa had the good sense not to follow, but she cast her next question out to him from where she stood, "So this isn't some Shadowhunter tradition then, etching words onto weapons?"

Will glanced over his shoulder irritably, and was cheered by inches to see Tessa holding the bow with both hands, and eyeing it as though any sudden move could force it to fire rampant arrows about the rooms at its own will.

"Our weapons have names; they do not need words placed upon them," Will nodded toward the bow curtly, "that is Jem's way of withholding hope in his work."

Once again the idea seemed to confuse Tessa, and her eyes passed through Will and focused on the thought as though it were a puzzle. Again the insane urge to laugh rose in him again, and he was beginning to wonder if her very company made him stupid.

"Come now Tess, everyone needs something to get them through. It isn't that hard of a concept to grasp," Will beseeched her. She shivered at the way he said her name, but looked no less disgruntled by the conversation.

"What do you need, then?" Tessa asked him, something very sombre crossing her expression, as though the answer might clear the entire matter up. All the light-heartedness was leeched from him in an instant, and suddenly he did not want to look at Tessa, but he forced himself to nonetheless. She must have seen something guarded cross his face, for she took a small step back as though afraid of him.

"Nothing," He said flatly, making her sufficiently uncomfortable, to the point that she busied herself replacing the bow, so she would not have to face him directly.

"Nothing?" She seemed unconvinced.

"That is what I said,"

She granted him a frank stare, one that belied her earlier nervousness. They had spent too great a time together, Will decided, and his temper was losing its effect on her. She squared herself against him now as though she were his match, and if they had not been touching on such a painful subject at present, he would most definitely have found the stance amusing. Now, however, it was irritating. It was a thorn in his already butchered side, and he wanted it gone. He was close to telling her so when she spoke again.

"Are you trying to tell me that there is nothing that brings you hope?" She accused him, as though the very act was a misdeed of his doing.

_Nothing that I haven't lost… _

Will gave her a long, hard look. Did she know about what had happened between he and Jem? Was this some cruel torture of her devising? Her way of rubbing salt into his wounds? No, she couldn't know, and if she did she would have thought twice before testing him with its memory. He could not guess why the situation had aggravated her so, but the last thing he wanted was another fight, especially over something as frivolous as this.

"Gin does, but that could just be Dutch courage in disguise," Will sneered, forcing himself to smile and shrug his shoulders nonchalantly, in a way that he knew was most infuriating. Tessa's face dropped into disappointment, and without another moment of consideration she made her way to the door. Will caught her arm as she passed, taken aback by the severity of her reaction, and pulled her close so that their chests almost touched.

"Steady there, I've made you mad," Will chuckled darkly, keeping hold of her as she tried to shake his arm off, "a lady should never storm out without at least telling a man what he has done to make her upset. There is nothing more vulgar than haste, after all,"

Tessa froze, her stare sharp and mouth set. She was still so new to him, and her determination once again took him by surprise, to the point that he dropped her arm in bafflement. She did not move however, as though suddenly interested in finishing their argument.

"Quote Emerson all you please, you have not made me mad; you have made me _nothing_," She insisted, enunciating the last so thickly that her accent was lost entirely for a moment. Irritation bloomed in his chest once again, and Will narrowed his eyes in response.

"Why does my answer bother you so greatly? How superior is your hope that it angers at mine?" He snapped, and watched as his words made her deflate, almost as though hot air was escaping from her body, leaving her empty.

She held his gaze with a brand of contempt that genuinely unsettled him, and when she did not answer he felt himself soften a little in sudden guilt.

"Why didn't you attend breakfast, Tessa?" Will asked her, his voice as low and unthreatening as he could make it. Something very painful crossed her eyes, and the weight of it made her drop them to the floor. She shuffled uncomfortably before him, drawing her arms across herself as a barrier between them.

"I was tired," she mumbled, almost too quietly for Will to hear.

"Of what?" He pried, wanting to lift her face but restraining himself. She hesitated, for a great length of time, but Will waited for her.

"Tired… Of waiting," she said, desperation finding volume in her answer, "I'm sick to my stomach of waiting behind these walls in uselessness. I've exhausted myself sitting and eating and living with you people as though I'm one of you; as though I belong here"

She looked up at Will, and he could see that tears were beginning to settle in her eyes. Of all the answers he might have expected, hers was not one of them. He had never considered the idea that Tessa might feel like an outcast amongst the shadowhunters. He was so focused on his own isolation, that he had never truly considered the idea that anyone could feel the same way. Now that he thought about it, he had never truly taken the time to spare a thought for Tessa's wellbeing, when his life had been so focused around his own woes, and Jem.

_More guilt_, Will acknowledged weakly_, I'm starting to think that it has no limit…_

Will had not thought of Tessa, nor Charlotte nor Henry nor anyone else in the institute for a very long time. Had Jem been so blind? No, Jem was compassionate beyond rationality. Will guessed that the reason Jem was able to end things between them lied in the fact that he had kept stock of what occurred around him, and had realised that better things awaited him beyond their reality. Will had been the selfish one, but now he had an opportunity to redeem himself. Tessa was in need of comfort, and he would be the one to give it.

Without thinking, he took the liberty of drawing a tear from Tessa's cheek with the side of his thumb, and in doing so made her retreat slightly with a new found guardedness.

He opened his mouth in the intention of apologising, but decided against it, knowing that it would only embarrass her more.

"Tessa, it's hardly unnatural for you to feel lost, given all you've been through," Will began, dropping all pretence and lifting her face to meet his, "but you must know, the institute will always be open to you."

She watched Will bemusedly, as though she had never seen him before, "I – I am grateful for the charity I have been given, do not misunderstand me; but I cannot find solace here, if I am truly a downworlder."

Will could understand such a confliction, knowing as well as he did the history of his people's aversion to the downwordlers. How difficult it must have been, forced to find some form of sanctuary in the house of the enemy, when she had so little else to comfort her. A great pity welled in his chest for her, but he repressed it in the memory of how sick that emotion had made him earlier that morning. There was something he saw in Tessa, a streak of character that reminded him of himself, and if she really was anything like him he knew she would anger at any sign of pity. Suddenly Will's feelings of loneliness seemed grossly unfounded, but he gave her the advice that comforted him, as it was the only advice he had.

"That is because you are searching for home in walls and windows, and not in the hearts of others. There is only home in people Tess; the members of this institute are the greatest people I have ever known, and if you open your heart to them, they will give you all the comfort you never knew you needed." Will told her, amazed by the fact that every word he spoke was true, and for the first time in his life he believed them.

Tessa seemed as equally amazed, though she seemed more astounded by the fact that Will was being so kind, rather than considering the information given. They shared a moment, where neither spoke but both were looking, and Will had the maddest urge to kiss her. Her face was so close, those eyes open with all the vulnerability in the world, and Will thought for a wild moment that he wanted her, more than anything else in the entire world. He could have done it, simply leant forward and caught her lips against his, leaning down into her as though her warmth could wash all his pain away.

He had done it many times before, with many other girls, back when he had thought he could pour his emptiness into others and feel better for it. It was always the same, and he had revelled in it for that very reason. Women were bewitched by the power of his beauty, and he had thrilled in the knowledge that it granted him. In those moments, he had lived outside of limits, and outside of rejection. He was comfortable in the notion that he could take whatever he wanted from them and they would give it freely, like comely vessels for his desire.

But when it was all over, and they were gone, the emptiness had always returned, With Jem it had finally been different. With Jem there had been something that lasted, a feeling of fullness that had leaked to every faculty of Will's life, until he'd thought he needed nothing else. He was not sure whether kissing Tessa would leave him empty or satisfied, but fear of finding out stayed his actions. He knew that if he leant forward and took from her now, Tessa would give to him, just as the other girls had, and just as Jem had. There was uncertainty though, and Will didn't think he could survive it if he came away empty, and lamented what it would take from her.

Tessa was waiting for him, to what? Did she want him as badly as he wanted her? No, there was a greater sincerity in the way she was searching his face, as though there was an answer waiting behind his eyes that she sorely needed. She thought better of herself however, and righted her person so that they were further apart, shattering the moment completely.

"You're right, of course you're right, and your kindness is greatly appreciated," Tessa said quickly, clearing her throat, "I thank you for it, and apologise for my weakness."

Will watched, still dumbfounded, as she turned on her heel and made for the door a second time.

"What was your hope?" Will blurted out, shocked by the childlike sound of it, "You never told me,"

Tessa turned back slightly, lingering in the doorway and considering a fact that gave her face a soft yet painful emotion.

"I don't know, I'm still searching for it," she smiled, holding his gaze for another baffling moment before she disappeared into the hallway.

.

.

The sound of the knives colliding with the target across the room reverberated amongst the rafters, echoing the words tumbling about in Will's head. He cast his aim to their rhythm, letting one after the other fly as though the sound of their impact could muffle the repetition.

Speed.

_Thud._

Courage.

_Thud._

Honour.

_Thud._

Hope.

_Thud._

_Thud, thud, thud._

They were bells ringing about his head in three languages, and they had tortured him for the last hour unendingly. It was bad luck really, how relevant four little words could be to him all at once… Or was it? Will wondered suddenly if Jem had chosen the words he did for that very reason, so that they lent themselves to each and every shortcoming he experienced.

_Pure masochism_, Will thought sourly, sweat beginning to line his shoulders from exertion, _couldn't he have kept them to himself?_

Speed.

Will cast another knife, admiring the way speed made it only a quick glint in the air, before it found its mark on the tortured target. It seemed like a moment ago that Will had first taught Jem to do this, and before today he hadn't appreciated how fast their years together seemed to fly; but who considered the fickle nature of things when they still had them? Jem had been a constant, something that Will held and felt and knew, like the knife in his hands. A flick of his wrist and the knife went soaring through the air, so fast he couldn't watch it turn, and it wasn't his anymore. Jem wasn't his anymore, time had given and taken away, so surely his pain would recede as rapidly. How much longer was it going to take? Will felt like the target at the other end of the room, defenceless and broken as wave after wave of stabbing pain was cast his way. He was a useless entity; his only weapon was patience and his only hope that, in time, the knives would stop coming.

But when would time stop throwing them?

He cast his last blade, and it landed close enough to another that their handles rattled together repeatedly.

Courage.

He had told Tessa that it gave all shadowhunters the incentive to do what was right, But did it? Jem had the courage to end his and Will's relationship, but so far nothing had felt right, not a single moment since then. Will felt lost, as though something essential had been removed from his chest and he longed for it back. What was courage to a broken man? Would it show him the way to fill the void inside him? Will scarcely understood why courage mattered now; it welled in the places where fear hindered, and death waited. Will knew that if he were to face possible death now, he guessed that he may well welcome it, rather than fight it. Courage required purpose, and Will no longer had any.

He went to collect the knives from the target, renting them from the surface with such brutality that great chunks came missing from it. It made Will laugh, and it sounded almost sick; he wondered if Charlotte was right; maybe he had caught his own death in the storm the night before.

Honour.

Again it made him laugh, seeming completely ridiculous in his situation. He was indeed the target ahead, with its missing pieces and jagged edges; was honour the same when stretched over a being so deformed? Or did it take on a new, less valiant form? Perhaps it worked now only in redemption, and Will decided that he didn't want it. He did not want to redeem himself, did not want to crawl out from the hole that they had created. Had Jem done the honourable thing by breaking Will's heart? If so, Will cursed honour for its cruel existence, for the hell it had caused him.

In anger, Will threw the knives faster and faster, so that his arm never ceased moving. He did it to distract himself from the last phrase, hoping at least to slow its arrival by merciful seconds.

Hope.

It stung the corner of his eyes, and dulled his vision to the extent that one of the knives hit the target by its hilt and fell to the ground with a clatter. Will felt heat rise from his very toes to the tip of his head, and he hurled the last blade with a strangled shout. The knife hit the target with startling force, and sank in far, almost to the handle.

"I do hope you're not imagining my face on that target," Jem said quietly, shocking Will so thoroughly that he was glad that he no longer held any knives in his hands, otherwise Jem's words would have rung truer than he had intended them. He glanced over his shoulder, briefly enough to ascertain that Jem was watching him from the entrance, before he went to collect the knives without reply.

"Really Will, are you going to ignore me from now on?" Jem asked, with the smallest hint of wariness to his voice that suggested he gave merit to the idea. Will had done anything but ignore Jem last night, but he was relieved to know that Jem had not woken early enough to catch him in the morning. He let none of it cross his expression however, having added Jem to the list of people that would receive his indifferent face.

"It's hardly ignoring when you interrupted," Will muttered, keeping his eyes on the ground as he made his way back to his mark, ruing the fact that he would have to face Jem for that entire journey. Jem was looking at him, intensely enough that Will felt it on his face like the warmth of a fireplace, and he guessed that it was Jem's intention.

"Will you keep avoiding me then?" Jem furthered. He took a few steps forward, but Will stiffened at the sound of them and Jem stopped.

"I've not avoided you, I came back didn't I?" He said, repositioning to throw once more.

"I was surprised you did come back so soon-"

"Surprised that I had nowhere else to go?" Will snapped, cutting him off. There was a silence that made Will wonder if he had offended Jem, but he heard a familiar sigh and his answer came.

"No, but I had thought that you would stay away longer, in order to make me worry," Jem explained. Will felt Jem's words on his shoulders like the crack of a whip, and the offense of the statement left a great sting there.

"You must think me vain," he seethed, letting a knife fly without even watching to see if it landed.

"No, but I think that I deserved the punishment," Jem admitted, with a self-loathing that Will should have revelled in. Instead he merely felt numb, as though nothing existed except for the sound of splitting wood and the pull of his muscles as he swung.

"I waited for you, I wanted to talk," Jem said quietly, after another considerable silence.

"We've done enough of that," Will grunted.

"I hadn't finished when you ran away, I still haven't," Jem insisted, closing a few more paces between them, despite Will's indignation, "I want to make this work Will."

"It is finished, we both have what we wanted, don't we?" Will hissed, turning on Jem now with such violence that Jem took an automatic step backwards, "I said I wanted you to be happy, and now you are. What's left to settle?"

"I'm not happy Will, I'm more miserable than I've ever been in my entire life!" Jem exclaimed, very nearly shouting, "How could our separation make me _anything_ but miserable?"

Will scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief of what he was hearing, "it can't have meant a great deal to you, when you were the one who ended it,"

"I ended it for both of us!" Jem was shouting now, casting his hands at Will with more passion than Will could have imagined him possessing, "I did it to give you a chance at something real, something that will last!"

"You don't think I knew what I was getting myself into when you kissed me on those docks? I never wanted anything else in my entire life, I only wanted you!" Will cried, casting the knives to the ground with a clatter, "… I still want you."

Jem looked at him for a great deal of time without speaking, and Will saw every painful emotion he had been feeling finally surface in Jem. He saw it in each line and shadow of his face, as his own mask fell away at the impact of Will's demonstration. Suddenly Will's doubt seemed ridiculous, and he had never felt more wrong than he did at that moment. Jem was suffering, of course he was. Jem was feeling everything Will had felt, but here he was. Jem was the better man, standing with his hands open, wanting peace between them. Shame made Will tired, and he wanted nothing more than to run into those outstretched arms, but the knowledge that they would not feel the same kept him still.

"You have me Will," Jem whispered, his voice breaking with emotion, "You always shall, you're half of my soul. Our relationship isn't broken, it's the same; there are just some things that we need to let go of now, so that we have some chance of a future."

Will knew he was right, and felt now the inevitability of the change. Will was afraid though, because change altered things in ways that could not be reversed, and he didn't know if the pain of changing their relationship would be as horrible as the pain of running away from it altogether.

"It's not that simple," Will replied weakly, averting his eyes so that he would not have to watch if Jem began to cry.

There was a hesitation, as Jem watched Will and Will watched the floor. Then Will heard Jem cross the room in loping footfalls, and recognised the scrap of metal against metal, before Jem called out to him and swung a massive long sword in Will's direction. Will lurched forward and caught it before it slammed into the ground, and the sudden movement made new pain shoot up his leg from his tender ankle.

"_By the Angel_, what the hell are you doing Jem?!" Will barked, wincing as the pain turned to throbbing. Jem lifted another long sword from the shelf for himself, and rounded on Will in the engagement stance that they had been taught since childhood.

"Making it simple," Jem replied dryly, nothing but determination left in his eyes, "One round of the long swords, I win, we stay _Parabatai_. You win, and we go our separate ways for good."

"This is ridiculous Jem," Will said lethargically, turning in the direction of the shelf in order to replace the sword. In that same moment Jem lurched forward and thrust his weapon in the direction of Will's chest, with absolutely no restraint. Will slapped the blade away with his own, out of unconscious reflex, and intended to shoot Jem an unimpressed glare. He had not the chance however, as Jem came for him immediately after his last action was repelled, and swung his sword hard from the left. Will was forced to jump back in response, and caught both swords against one another. He yelped as his ankle hit the ground hard, and was distracted almost long enough for Jem to stab him in the leg. Will slapped Jem's sword again, this time in irritation.

"Are you insane? You could have killed me!" Will yelled, unable to believe how careless Jem was being.

"Then you had better start moving faster, otherwise I'll win this match in an entirely different manner," Jem smiled, and Will thought he was surely insane.

Jem attacked again, extending on his left foot and forcing Will back on his right. He cried out again, sure that he would break the thing if he had to lean on it again.

"Jem stop it, I'm injured. This isn't a fair fight," Will snapped, thinking _himself_ insane for having acknowledged this idiocy as a proper fight. Jem had not a shred of sympathy, and Will wondered where he had found all this stern resolve.

"If all things were fair William," Jem returned frankly, "we would be living very different lives."

A moment passed, and swords met yet again with a crash. Will was startled to realize that he was the one who had advanced this time, and Jem seemed to share his surprise. Will felt it then, the sweet release of his anger, as his blade fell upon Jem's without a shred of restraint. The force of it reverberated through Will's entire arm, and left it tingling. Jem deflected the shot, but at the cost of a few paces, obviously unprepared for such an enthusiastic response. Will should have felt awful for striking out against Jem, but all he felt was that all increasing, all-consuming anger.

He had sparred a thousand times with Jem before, but he had honestly never allowed himself to do so without even the tiniest amount of hesitance. He had never fought Jem with his full strength, fearing that he might crumble if he added the last ounce of force, but now Jem was goading him, and he was through talking.

"You're unbelievable," Will hissed, murder hinting behind his tone, before he leant on his good leg and lunged for Jem. There was no time for reply as Jem met him with as much effort, and they immediately fell into the routine they had practiced countless times, though this time it was very different. Anger drew Will's sword down with singing force, which thundered through his veins and left a hot ringing there. Jem was set into defence, backpedalling as Will reigned stroke after angry stroke, unable to stop. Jem grunted as he was pushed back against the wall, and concern distracted Will long enough for Jem to lock his sword in with Will's, an astounded grin spreading across his face.

"_You're_ unbelievable," Jem panted, his brow shining with exertion, "You've been holding back on me,"

Will shrugged, wrenching his sword from the grip and levelling it in invitation to continue. Jem's smile grew ever larger, and he returned the gesture smoothly.

"Well then, can I tell you a secret?" He inquired, not waiting for Will's permission, "I've been holding back as well."

With that, he began his own throes of offense, and Will was very nearly caught on his back for how fast he was. Their weapons were silvery flashes of brilliance, and Will saw his blade wobbling with the power they were both enforcing. Will felt sweat trickle from his hair line, and the burn from his muscles as they stretched, accommodating a speed that they had not faced before. Jem fell back onto his left foot and drove his sword on an angle that Will could not block with any confidence. He leapt out of the way, losing his balance and falling automatically into a backwards scramble.

They had not learnt such a motion in training; Will guessed that in the recent months, when he had been hiding, Jem had been practicing. It gave Jem a clear advantage, and suddenly it was all Will could do not to lose his head as they careened about the room clumsily. The familiarity of it was all too overwhelming, and Will found the entire situation very suddenly and irrationally funny. The laugh that escaped him was full and genuine, and the sound of it was like the welcoming of an old friend.

Will doubled over with it, and dropped his sword to his side automatically. He wasn't sure if he had expected Jem to wait, but as soon as his grip weakened his sword was smacked from his hands by Jem's deft hand. Somewhat sobered from the experience, Will made a move toward the thing as it skidded across the floor, but was hit by what felt like a wall, before he was knocked to the floor. His head intercepted the floorboards roughly, and for a moment the lights in the room seemed to blur together. He squinted and moaned as the pain filtered through his skull, and heard heavy breathing above him, paced against his own. Jem's face swirled into existence above him, and Will wondered if the blow to his head was what made his smile so radiant. His brow was shining with sweat, and his eyes swirled with victory. His teeth glowed the brightest, and Will winced, unable to handle all the light coming from him.

He tried to move, but was met with a counter motive, and noticed belatedly that Jem was pinning him to the ground with all his limbs, though his lightness prevented it from being a painful affair.

"Cheaters never prosper William," Jem snickered, his warm breath hitting Will's face, "I won."

Will was reeling, his whole body on fire. His head was throbbing, and his arms were on aching from how far he had pushed them. His ankle felt as though it had been half removed, but their heat was no match for what Jem's body lent him from above. He was so close, so damned close, and Will couldn't think straight. Jem's chest was pressed against Will's, and their hearts thundered against one another in a wonderful chorus. It was so intimate, and a thousand memories of he and Jem entwined in this way attacked him without mercy. He squeezed his eyes shut and cast them to the mercy of his pounding head, as though they could be drowned out.

"Did you hear me?" Jem asked, though there was worry in his voice at Will's groans of pain. His hand began to slide down Will's arm, toward his face, and Will knew without a trace of doubt in his mind that if Jem's hand reached it' s mark, he would lose himself to his desire.

"It wasn't a fair fight to begin with," He coughed out, a great breath of relief leaving him when Jem froze.

"Oh come on, don't try to tell me that you didn't let me win," Jem laughed, the lovely sound of it soothing Will's head, "I know you wanted me to win,"

"Why would I want you to win? You're only goal is to complicate everything," Will grunted, the dancing lights beginning to fade along the edges of his vision. Jem snorted, an uncivilised sound that Will had never heard Jem make before, and for some unknown reason it made Will smile with affection.

"_Complicated?_ By the Angel Will, _life_ is complicated, Living it is even more complicated," Will felt Jem lean in closer, and he opened his eyes to find Jem's mere inches away, "and worst of all, my love for you is more complicated than any of it thrown together."

A thousand emotions raced through Will's veins like a drug; shock, excitement, pleasure, pain… and love; that could not be denied. Jem must have seen the change in him, because his eyes widened, and dropped for the thickest of moments to Will's lips, lingering there.

"Jem," Will whispered, half in question and the other in… Will didn't know.

He thought for a wild second that Jem was going to kiss him, but the moment ended and Jem secured his gaze back where it belonged, a new restraint visible in the line of his jaw.

"I thought you were making it simple," Will accused him, knowing there would be disappointment in his voice before he spoke.

"This," he laughed once, indicating with a nod to their hands, just as he reached up and slid his fingers through Will's accepting ones, "will never be simple, but why does it need to be?"

Jem gripped Will's hands tighter, the passion in his eyes enough to make Will blind, "I'll take you however you come Will, I'll have all the complication you can throw at me. I'll spend the rest of my life sorting through those layers until I find what I want, then I'll never let him go,"

"What do you hope to find?" Will breathed, quietened by his own apprehension of the answer, and in awe of Jem's passion.

"My best friend, I know he's in there, somewhere." Jem answered, disentangling one of his hands long enough to rap Will upside the head.

Will's chest went cold, and he turned his face to the side so that he did not have to look at Jem.

"What if you get tired of looking?" He asked under his breath, though he knew Jem heard it. The hand that had struck him slid under his chin, and turned his head so that the sweetest smile that had ever crossed Jem's face could find its way into Will's vision.

"I won't," Jem assured him very softly, that same hand remaining under his chin. Will felt like the heat of Jem's hands on him were the only things tying him to the Earth, but whether he would fly or fall without them, he did not know.

"How to you know?" He furthered, a little desperately. He couldn't imagine what it had felt like to be so angry with this boy mere minutes earlier. Jem was so gentle and beautiful in that moment, the entire world an offering in his eyes, and Will knew that he couldn't survive a life without this beauty in it.

"Because I love you," Jem stated, without a shred of hesitation or unsureness, "in so many ways that you can't imagine, at least not yet."

He leaned forward and pressed his forehead into Will's for the briefest moment, a gesture so intimately familiar that their eyes dropped shut automatically to enjoy it. Then he pulled away, lifting himself off Will and leaving the impression on Will's body that he was missing something important.

Jem lent Will a hand, which he sorely needed, to regain his footing. His entire body seemed to hurt, and wondered if Jem felt as awful as he did. Jem seemed vibrant however, as though he felt better than he had in years, and Will cursed himself for being unable to take his eyes of his _Parabatai._

"Are you coming to lunch? You barely ate any of your breakfast," Jem inquired, maintaining his grip on Will's hand just long enough to make Will's heart swell with tenderness. Was it all really so different now between them? Had they really changed? Jem stood before Will as a mirror of the little boy who used to search shyly for his hand in the dark, as though he might slip away in the night if he did not have it in his keeping. Was Will so different, lost and confused in the awe of this gentle person beyond his years? It was the same then as it was now, and Will wondered for the first time how he could have missed it.

When he nodded his consent, Jem dropped his hand and turned to leave, with a reluctance the Will did not fail to notice. Before he was gone, Will called out, unable to quash the final kindling of doubt lacing his mind.

"Jem… when will I be able to imagine it?"

Jem turned around, a knowing smirk already waiting on his lips, as though he'd guessed that Will would ask such a question.

"It's just the same Will," Jem laughed, casting a hand toward his fallen long sword, abandoned a yard away from where Will stood, "all you need is some practice, and you'll catch up when you're ready."

"Will you wait for me?" Will inquired, without the slightest effort to restrain the longing in the question.

Jem smiled that sweet smile once more, and Will thought he was finally seeing those layers of love Jem had spoken of, waiting behind his eyes, for when Will wanted them, "For as long as it takes, simple as that."

.

.

When he was gone, Will lingered for a little while, as long awaited sunbeams began to filter in from the windows, bathing the old room in warm afternoon light. He turned so that the heat hit his face, almost as warm as Jem's breath had been, and closed his eyes.

There he felt something, a little stirring in his chest, fragile as a hummingbird's heartbeat. It fluttered there, small and jittery; and as a hundred images flashed across his vision, it seemed to grow. Behind his eyes there was a boy, small and lost like him, his sweet music saying all the things he couldn't. There were long nights, when cold hands buried themselves in his heat, and for the first time he'd felt as though he could sustain someone, even if all they needed was his company. There were lips, soft and hard all at once, pressing against him, opening him and searching the places he had locked away from the rest of the world. There were whispered words and new discoveries, and closeness, whose beauty he could not have imagined in his loneliest moments. There was happiness and then there was darkness, when the touches were gone and the words were hurtful. He lived through each pain as he lived through each blessing, and yet the fluttering feeling persevered through it all, strengthening with every recollection.

Will gathered every ounce of love and pain Jem had given him, until he thought he might explode from the potency of them both, and let himself feel it all. It ripped and restored, tore and mended, until he was left raw with the shadow of what he had let free. Jem had given him everything, and Will had given it back in equal measure. Now there were new images, of a smile sweeter than any other essence on Earth, and a promise that made Will's head spin.

_As long as it takes._

The little feeling grew large, despite every shortcoming that could have held it back, and spread to the tips of his fingers and the soles of his feet. It buried itself there, dormant but not settled, and made his every nerve spark alive with its energy. He saw Tessa's glance over her shoulder once again, and her words washed over him with new meaning.

A quiet laugh escaped him as he stood under the cast of light, as he gave in to the most ironic thing he had ever experienced.

.

.

Such a foolish little feeling.

.

.

.

_Hope._

**And that's all.**_  
_

**Just kidding, because you guys are amazing, you're getting all the bonus material I can give!**

**The order of things will the bonus chapter first, set toward the end of Clockwork Prince, then the rewrite of the chosen events from a reversed perspective, and the reader who found the song lyrics first has chosen Jem recieving the jade fist from Will, as well as their first kiss, so we have that to look forward to.**

**Last but not least is the candid list of everything Will and Jem got up to in that attic, and I cannot explain how much fun I'm having with that one ;)**

**So stay tuned, because there is more yet to come.**

**If you were wondering, the poem referenced in the title refers to William Blake's poem "A Divine Image".**

**Sorry for any typos, I warded them off with a chant of literary protection, but then I realised that I wasn't magic so that probably doesn't mean anything.**

**Beta'd by the lovely Tash, who is also having much fun helping me with the list :D**

**Chloe :)**


	12. The Chariot

**Bonus chapter time!**

**Sorry as always for the wait, but I bring gifts to show my love for you, so you have to act polite even if you don't like it (just put it in the cupboard and regift it later)**

**There are two parts to this chapter, the first half takes place at the end of _Clockwork Angel_, and the other half takes part at the end of_ Clockwork Prince_, after *SPOILERS* ****Charlotte is voted to keep the institute and Jem proposes to Tessa (following the books plot)**

**Please enjoy, and don't forget to review, and once again thank you to those who already have, but I want to hear from you again as well, because you're so lovely!**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not claim ownership over the Infernal Devices or the characters therein. They are property of Cassandra Clare and she will be president of the universe one day, so I wouldn't mess with her if I were you.**

_Because I could not stop for Death,  
He kindly stopped for me;  
The carriage held but just ourselves  
And Immortality._

_We slowly drove, he knew no haste,  
And I had put away  
My labor, and my leisure too,  
For his civility._

_We passed the school where children played,  
Their lessons scarcely done;__  
We passed the fields of gazing grain,  
We passed the setting sun._

_~The Chariot, by Emily Dickenson~_

"_Is this the residence of the Magnus Bane?" Magnus heard someone familiar demand from the hallway beyond, knowing from the desperate sound of it who was inquiring._

.

.

.

Magnus abandoned his writings, and strained his ears so that he could enjoy Archer's subsequent spluttering from the next room. The sound amused him to no end, bringing more warmth to his chest than the dying embers of the hearth could. Camille's abandoned subjugate reeked of mutiny, held to authority by what seemed like a thread that could sever at any given moment, should an independent mood take his fancy. Archer saw Magnus as an intrusion into something much older than a vacant building, something deeper and far more personal that Magnus did not, and had no desire to, understand. As such, any implication that Magnus owned the residence had Archer's blood boiling, a fact which cheered Magnus' spirits greatly.

"This manner _was_ of my mistresses keeping, but your barging has reduced it to some pathetic cousin of the Thames," Magnus heard Archer snarl at the late guest, "will you at least remove your coat?"

"No, where is Magnus Bane?" The guest answered in a clipped tone, and Magnus could hear the distinct shuffle of searching feet on the runner.

"Master Bane is not accepting guests this evening I am afraid, if you will leave your name with me, I will commend a message to him-"

"I am not interested in being accepted, I will see him as a larcener if I have to," came the agitated reply, and there were faint sounds of a scuffle, "get out of my way this instant."

Despite himself, Magnus admired the boy's determination. Rain was heaving itself against the high windows in abandon, the sound more like the rumbling of carriage wheels than anything else. It was true, Magnus had ordered Archer to hold all guests for the remainder of the evening, for his last business venture had left him drained and in need of overdue rest. He had hidden himself inside on of Camille's lavish sitting rooms, this one being her favourite. The complete works of Coleridge lined the walls, ranging from the oldest paperbacks that seemed to shiver and threaten to burst into a cloud of dust at the touch of the brutal English air; to the gold encrusted hard spines that gleamed in the fire's wan light, the pride of their very manufacture seeming to bleed between the flickering shadows and coat the walls about the library with their cold light. The room also seemed to encourage the aversion of Archer, and for this reason Magnus had chosen it as his primary resting place for the past few months, despite its perpetual coldness.

Under any normal circumstances, he might have been irritated by his guest's rude disregard, and even more so for Archer's snide defence of his absent mistress; but the night was wild, and the thought of seeing this particular boy after so many years filled Magnus to the brim with curiosity. When he heard the footsteps round on his door, and the muffled voices argue, he did nothing, nor did he rise when the doors flew open and two men stumbled inside. One, the taller, was soaking wet and towing the other with him, whose hand was pulling him back by the lapels of his coat. Magnus should have found the image hilarious, but was all too busy taking in all of the boy before him.

He barrelled into the room like a violent storm, but Magnus had expected nothing less from William Herondale. He was drenched, down to his very bones, and there were shining droplets of water slipping from the curls of his dark hair; it covered his face, so that all Magnus could see was a cast of sharp shadows about his eyes and cheekbones. He stopped short when he saw Magnus sitting calmly in his armchair, and righted himself hastily. As the light hit his features, Magnus could see the bizarre blue of his eyes peeking out from under that mess of hair, and he had to suppress a gasp for how potently they still struck him.

Magnus remembered the first time he had seen those eyes, hidden in a pocket of shadow outside the sitting room door, as Charlotte Branwell had spoken to him about a young boy, who was dying. William's face had been caught between conflicted feelings of fear and wonder, as he and Magnus had observed one another in secret across the room. He had been such a beautiful boy, but even then there had been traces of something strange underneath it all, something that made even Magnus' senses, dulled by hundreds of years, spike worryingly.

There was still that same aura of wonderment about him now, as he looked upon Magnus as though he could barely believe that he had not changed. It never failed to amuse Magnus, when the shadowhunter looked at him that way, but he guessed that mortals could never really grasp the concept that some things never changed. Magnus had seen the same reflection of himself for centuries, to the extent that his own beauty no longer held any meaning. Willaim, however, grew and changed each time Magnus saw him; and he took great delight in noting the differences now. He was taller, by inches, and all the softness of his youth had vanished in the line of his shoulders and the curves of his face.

He was such a wonderful specimen, and Magnus wondered if it was his looks that stirred such an interest in Magnus. He had always guessed that one appreciated all change when they did not experience it themselves, but there was nothing average about the way William Herondale looked. Magnus had seen more faces in his lifetime than breaths William had taken, but his was a face that Magnus never forgot, nor did it ever lose its effect on him.

"Evening Mr Bane," William cleared his throat uncomfortably, clearly uneasy under Magnus' naked stare, "you may recall, my name is-"

"William Herondale, has it been years already?" Magnus interrupted, flashing Will his widest smile, and revelling in the further discomfort it caused him. The boy in the shadows that night at the Institute had never left Magnus' memory, partly for his mysterious demeanour, but mostly because he had seemed like a child who did not want to be remembered. He had seemed like a little ghost as he'd lingered in the dark places outside, and Magnus had guessed that being remembered was not one of the things he was used to, at least not in any form that was flattering.

William had a reputation amongst downworlders as it was, the irfits having noted his constant purchase of the drug _Yin Fen_. They realised soon after his first purchase that the shadowhunter was not buying the drug for himself, but only Magnus knew who really needed it.

"Call me Will, if you care to remember me so ardently," Will returned haughtily, though there was a nervous undertone to his words now. It was as though his anger had dissipated in Magnus' presence, as his gaze seemed to strip from Will his gaudy defences. Will probably thought Magnus could see straight through them, but in truth Magnus had simply forgotten how to subdue the intensity of his stare in his old age.

"Very well, but in return you must call me Magnus, if you are so desperate to see me in the middle of a storm," Magnus smiled easily, admiring the way his every movement had such a visible effect on Will. He was so accustomed to Camille's ancient stillness, and Archer's cold disregard, that having another human being so vibrant and nervous like an ignited wick before him made him forget his weariness completely.

"Well then, Magnus, I would appreciate it if you would call your dog off its hunt," Will said, jerking rather violently, so that Archer was pulled forward as well, still attached to Will's coat.

"Archer, you may let go of my guest now," Magnus instructed the footman absently. Archer shot him the darkest stare from under his heavy brow, and released Will with a roughness that would have earned him severe punishment were Magnus under any false illusions that it would alter his behaviour. Archer was a subjugate, and as such his devotion to Camille took from his person all traces of rationality, as was required by his master. Another man might have been jealous of such devotion, but Magnus knew that with Archer it was involuntary, and the prospect of anything beyond his will terrified Magnus enough that he left it alone. Archer was incapable of learning, and Magnus was disinterested in teaching him.

"I was told not to let any guests through," Archer grumbled quietly, casting his eyes to the scarlet runner beneath his feet. Will's persistent dampness had turned the carpet a rather foreboding deep red, and Magnus wondered briefly what the stone would look like in such a colour. He had stared at the same walls for months without alteration, and the longer Camille stayed away the more desperately he wished to redecorate the house.

Camille had such meretricious taste, with a great emphasis on the colour red. Her entire house was framed in great slings of scarlet and black, leaving little opportunity for daylight to make its way through. Camille did not sleep during the day like other vampires, had lived long enough that she had overcome the habit, but it was not entirely significant when the manner always seemed to be in the dark.

"Then who is at fault here, really? I don't think it's Mr. Herondale," Magnus scolded and, catching the rebellious glint in Archer's eyes, continued before he had a chance to speak, "That will be all, Archer."

It seemed for a moment as though Magnus was going to receive argument, but Archer thought better of himself and slunk from the room begrudgingly instead. Archer had challenged Magnus before, and though Archer had made it clear that he would tell Camille of all wrongdoings on Magnus' part regarding her estate, Magnus had made it even clearer that he could send Archer on that journey at any time he wished.

Will glanced after the butler for a moment, but turned back to Magnus hastily, with a new seriousness to his demeanour.

"I'm in need of your services," Will stated flatly, his eyes bright and unwavering. Magnus found that he couldn't think properly with such eyes on him, a fact that both baffled and concerned him.

"How forward, it is unfortunate then that I do not run errands," Magnus scoffed, turning away from Will to watch the fire, "As I told you last time, I do not care for consultations with the _Nephilim_."

"This is no errand, it is a business venture," Will insisted, stepping forward so that his dark shape lingered on the edges of Magnus' vision; very distracting.

"It is not a business venture unless agreed upon by both parties. Until that time, it is an errand." Magnus drew out, wanting to make Will squirm and get to the point.

"So then listen to me," Will snapped, but drew back a long breath to calm himself, "I have money,"

"_Fascinating,_"

Again Will tensed with anger, and it was all Magnus could do not to stare too longingly. It was such a treat, so see a youth commanded by his silly emotions, for Magnus had spent such a long time petrifying in this house of the dead. There was energy that radiated from Will, and Magnus could feel it on him like the warmth of the fire, flickering and unpredictable.

"I want to employ you to find something for me, something very important," Will continued, fists clenched.

Magnus laughed, making Will flinch back a few paces with its outburst, "So it _is_ an errand then, my assistance is not cheap for such services," Magnus extended the world with extra emphasis, in such a heady tone that it made Will shiver slightly.

"If it is an errand, it is not an Earthly one," He said darkly, pushing the soaking hair from his face with his right hand. Magnus caught a glimpse of a swirling rune on the inside of Will's wrist, and had to remind himself what this boy was, and the danger it could grant him. He had caught Magnus' attention however, and in the way that Magnus rued most, with curiosity. Magnus' emotions had diluted with each year past, but there was one that had only grown with age; curiosity. He guessed that his shrinking sense of shame was to blame for such a thing, but nevertheless it was what drove his actions a great deal of the time.

"And what exactly is this token that you cannot fetch yourself?" Magnus inquired.

Will cast his gaze down for the first time that evening, and shuffled from one foot to the other repeatedly, dripping more dirty water onto the floor. He must have been freezing, and Magnus was sick with the irrational urge to offer him dry clothes. He convinced himself that it was due to the desire to see Will without clothes on, rather than the incomprehensible thought that he was sympathising with a trespassing shadowhunter.

"A demon," Will muttered with a very un- businesslike hesitance, still averting his eyes. Magnus was taken by surprise, this having been one of the last answers he'd expected. He had assumed that the boy was looking for another means of treating his _Parabatai_ James, as that had been his intention last he'd called on Magnus. What use had a shadowhunter for a demon? Did he intend to conjure up the creature that had poisoned James? Magnus was a powerful warlock, but he could not be sure if he would be able to contain a greater demon in his exhausted state.

"There is no cure for James' illness in the demon world, if that is what you are searching for," Magnus beseeched him, turning to face him properly in his seat. Will's head snapped up at the mention of James, something profoundly painful crossing his face in the split second that he was not guarding it. Magnus found this intensely interesting, having made a fair few conclusions on the matter already. Will and James were clearly more than friends, so much was evident, but Magnus could only guess how far that relationship ran. He had heard that _Parabatai_ were closer than brothers, but had never seen such a phenomenon in person before. The pain on Will's face had been literal, something so powerful that it had run down his entire body like a current.

How much of that emotion was from their bond as shadowhunters, and how much was borne of their relationship as lovers? Magnus felt the smallest twist of jealousy in his chest as he watched Will hurt for the boy he loved. Magnus guessed that Camille did not remember such a feeling, nor would she comprehend that she should feel it for him. There was a lot to be envied in young love, and Magnus feared that soon enough it would be as unfathomable to him as it was to Camille.

"I am not here for Jem," Will replied after a moment, his voice catching on the name, "I have my own affairs to sort."

"And what affairs are those? I rather thought shadowhunters liked to kill demons, not summon them." Magnus observed, noticing the way in which Will was shivering. He made a small motion with his fingers, so that the fire rekindled in the hearth. It cast new warmth about the room, but Will did not seem to notice.

"That isn't information I am able to disclose," Will explained, with a new firmness to his tone, "I will tell you all you need to know, nothing more."

"Then what do you suggest is in it for me?" Magnus demanded, caught on a huff of disbelief. He couldn't believe he was wasting his time, goading this boy when he really had no intention of helping him.

_I should have sent him away immediately_, Magnus thought bitterly_, I have own damned curiosity to blame…_

"I have a great deal of money," Will suggested, growing wary with Magnus' doubt.

"So you've said," Magnus sighed, abandoning the parchment in his hands to the cabinet beside his chair with the finality that he would not pick it up again that evening, "and as an immortal warlock, you can imagine just how interested I am in money."

Will's face fell at that, and he seemed for a moment at loss for words. The pretence of confidence had dropped, Magnus realised, and all that was left seemed to be a smattering of hope, and a great deal of desperation. He felt his chest grow cold as he watched Will falter, and assured himself that, were Will not so handsome, his sympathies would be nary.

"I'll pay you anything, name your price," Will pushed relentlessly, opening his palms wide in a surprisingly vulnerable gesture, "I'll give you anything."

Such an offer from a beautiful man should have had Magnus reeling with excitement and opportunity, but for some unholy reason all Magnus felt was sympathy. Will's words were so sincere, and Magnus guessed that if he asked for the moon, Will would string it in pieces about Magnus' chandelier in return for his services. With that knowledge, Magnus let a great breath leave him, and the question was let from his lips before he could think better of himself.

"What sort of demon is it?"

Will's very posture sprang up at Magnus' words, and the smallest smile spread across his lips before he answered, "I'm not sure, I think it was blue."

Magnus frowned, wondering what he had gotten himself into.

"What is the demon's name?"

Will's expression darkened, "I don't know."

"Was it a greater demon or a minor one?"

"I don't know,"

"How old was it?"

"I don't know,"

"What did it look like?"

"I… Don't know,"

Magus broke off from questioning, fixing Will with a most unimpressed glare. Will met it with apologetic eyes, and for some reason that made Magnus angrier. Was this a great joke? Magnus was tired, and had allowed this maddening boy to mutter garbage and drip water on his rug for far too long.

"So, let me summarise the information you've given me. You want me to summon a demon, for reasons that you will not share, and you do not remember a damned thing about said demon, excepting the fact that it is _blue?_" Magnus said very quietly, making Will visibly nervous.

"I realise how ridiculous it sounds, I do; but I'm imploring you to reconsider," Will said, pressing forward slightly, "I'm willing to do whatever it takes,"

"That may be the case, but I am not, and I think it is time that you were escorted out," Magnus concluded, rising from his seat so that he stood tall over Will, in order to make the suggestion a command. He was startled to find that Will was not much shorter than him at all, but supressed such an emotion so that none of it reached his face. Will's eyes became large and pleading, as he held his ground in Magnus' shadow.

"Please, give it a chance, I'll pay any price you waver-"

"I don't want your blasted money, stupid _Nephilim!_" Magnus snapped, making Will jump with the severity of it. He regretted his anger instantly, but tried not to show it as he herded Will out the door hastily.

"Please, give me a chance to- I'll do anything-" Will was cut off as Magnus gave him an encouraging shove toward the door, and was about turn away when Will ejected loudly, "Magnus, please!"

Magnus stopped, just as all the fight drained out of Will and he was left wilted, and completely exposed in front of Magnus.

"I'm asking you Magnus- no, I'm begging you," Will said, his voice barely above a whisper, "Magnus, please."

Magnus thought it rather manipulative, considering his name had been spoken with such ardent longing, but he knew now that Will was beyond options, and Magnus was his last hope. He was so young, and so desperate before Magnus, those beautiful eyes shining with every ounce of brokenness that lied beneath. Magnus wondered if he had ever displayed such a face to James, but some instinct told him that he hadn't. Magnus almost preferred Will this way, and by some perspectives he was more beautiful in wanting; but Will was not there to be admired, or handled, or tolerated. Will needed help, and Magnus was the only one who could do so.

Magnus stepped forward, so that he and Will were feet apart, and levelled a very loaded stare on him, "Tell me why,"

Will winced, his shoulders dropping, "Magnus, I can't-"

"Tell me why." Magnus repeated, this time forcefully.

For a moment, Will glanced toward the door and Magnus thought that he might leave. After a moment of silence, his gaze returned to Magnus, and his answer came on the smallest of breaths, "Because there is someone who wants me to move on, and this is the only way that I can fulfil such a wish."

Magnus watched him intently, his eyes narrowing at the strange explanation, "do _you_ want to move on?"

Will had not expected such a question, and confliction soured his expression severely. He looked up at Magnus slowly, and Magnus could see the remnants of raindrops tangled in his long lashes. They cast gleaming shadows across his cheekbones, and Magnus had the most insane urge to draw this lovely, broken creature close and protect him from harm.

"I don't want to feel alone anymore," Will answered softly, his tone almost unsure, "I want to feel good again, like I did before."

Before what? Magnus didn't ask, something small inside him warning against such a question. There was a part of him, deep and forgotten in his chest that opened at Will's words, spilling a foreign tenderness through his veins that he hadn't felt in many years. He didn't have a name for it, but he knew what it would make him say before he said it.

"Do you realise just how many millions of demons there are in existence Will Herondale?" Magnus chided him, though he knew deep down that he was the one to blame, "I am going to turn you out of pocket before we're through."

Will's face sprang to life, and a brilliant grin stretched across his face. There was not even a shred of thought for resignation, and for some ungodly reason it made Magnus feel even more affectionate toward him. Will extended a shaking hand quickly, and with deliberate grace Magnus shook it, taking care not to brush his fingers against Will's angel marks.

"Thank you, Magnus, thank you," Will repeated again and again, seeming more like a child than a man.

"You won't thank me when I give you the list of ingredients that I need for even one summoning, it is a messy business." Magnus warned him, snapping his fingers and conjuring a slip of paper in his palm. Will's eyes widened with automatic unease, but there was less disapproval in the expression. He took the slip when it was offered, and agreed to retrieve a collection of unpleasant objects from the written address on the paper.

"If you are not here with those ingredients – still bleeding, mind you – at dusk three days from now, our contract will be terminated." Magnus grunted, already spiralling into self-loathing for his weakness.

Will promised that he would be on time, and wished him a polite good night when Magnus not so politely told him to get out. After he was gone, Magnus did not go to bed for hours, pondering both his own stupidity and the chaos of what was sure to come.

.

.

.

"Mr. Bane?" Charlotte directed sharply, and Magnus realised that she had been speaking for some time. He had been quite distracted by the nostalgia of the Institute's drawing room, having last been called into company here roughly five years prior. Charlotte seemed to be in want of instruction, but for the life of him Magnus could not remember what she had been talking about since he'd entered the place.

"What was the question again?" Magnus inquired, cupping his palm to the back of his ear, as though hundreds of years of immortality had dulled his hearing. Charlotte's mouth twisted a little at the mocking gesture, though her tone remained steady when she again offered him tea or sandwiches.

"Oh bless you, a pot of tea would be most appreciated," Magnus replied happily, striding across the room and sinking into the familiar chaise without the offer of his host. More lip twisting, and this time Magnus could have sworn that her fingers were itching to fist, but once again a small politeness ensued in Charlotte's tone as she asked him how he liked it.

"Black as ichor Charlotte, and do remember to add sugar this time," he smiled lazily, loving the way she stiffened when he used her first name. Despite his previous reluctance, he was quite enjoying his visit to the _Nephilim_ institute so far, or rather, he was enjoying it now that he had discovered this new game of teasing.

"How much sugar?" Charlotte asked, her tone slow and measured , so that none of her irritation came past her posture.

"Much, can that be arranged?" Magnus replied sweetly, secretly admiring Charlotte's ability to swallow each and every slight he was providing her. It was not her choice, so much was true, but it was impressive nonetheless.

"Very well, I'll fetch it now," She said, turning brusquely and making her way from the room.

"I rather thought maids were useful for such tasks," Magnus observed, pretending to be very interested in the paisley pattern of the lounge.

Charlotte paused, but did not turn when she answered, in a tone that did not invite discussion, "Sophie is out today, so I will make it for you."

"Your maids _go out_?" Magnus called after her with wonder and disbelief, but received no reply as the lengths of Charlotte's skirt flickered around the corner and out of sight. Did all their staff make their own schedules in this place? Magnus wondered at the misplaced quaintness of the _Nephilim_, when it was contrasted with the overwhelming superiority of their actions. Magnus was not visiting by any will of his own, having been requested by Charlotte in such a way that had implied he would regret it if he did not accept. He knew why she had invited him, and was dreading the next hour more than he dreaded summoning a greater demon.

He knew that Charlotte had been voted to stay in her position at the institute very recently, had been told as much by Will in one of their many appointments, and guessed that this meeting would revolve very cleanly around Magnus' loyalty to this institute's staff. It seemed only appropriate that Charlotte would seek to renew any doubts or distance in her demonic connections, after her own position had been in great question, but Magnus had no stomach for such pandering. He was too old for this nonsense, and if Charlotte had known any better, she could have saved herself an hour of Magnus' trying company. Magnus was not loyal to anyone, and saw no merit in joining permanent bonds with mortals.

These bonds were indeed permanent to them, but for Magnus they simply entailed forty or fifty years of restriction to a certain part of society, before the mortal in question perished and the contract was severed. Agreements seemed so petty in the perspective of Magnus' lifespan, and the thought of a mortal commanding his life for any period of time seemed completely ridiculous.

That was why he had taken up residence at Woosley's after he and Camille ended things. True, he and Woosley were doing much more than merely sharing a house, but their relationship as lovers was very nearly as casual. Woosley did not ask where Magnus was going, nor what he was doing, and Magnus extended the same courtesy to him. It was not that Woosley did not want to ask, it was that he did not _care, _and such an attitude suited Magnus nicely. For a mortal being, Woosley had an immortal spirit, and after his devotion to Camille was so heartlessly cast away, Magnus was becoming more and more convinced that Woosley's way of living was better.

Undeniably, Magnus had longed at one stage to spend the rest of his life with someone, one person from whom he would never stray, but Camille had proven to him that eternity was far too long for monogamy. Magnus had always known that Camille's desires and feelings for him had faded over time, but had not guessed that she would simply desert him for another given her chance. Could he really blame her though? People were designed to love one another until the day they died; but what if that day never came? He had wondered, and was rather sure now, that solidarity in love was reserved for those whose time was limited, as it made love seem altogether beautiful and tragic. Without the stakes stacked against it, love really seemed to lose its appeal after hundreds of years, so Magnus shouldn't have been surprised by Camille's infidelity.

Despite it all, however, Magnus had been. He had been shattered and left bleeding by Camille's actions, almost as distraught as he had been when he'd fallen in love with her. It had been the same, falling in love, each and every time he'd felt it, and he had felt it a great many times. For all his supposed wisdom on the matter, he could not stop himself from falling again and again, loving silly mortals and wise immortals, both of which had always ended in heart break. Perhaps it was part of his punishment, that he withheld all the dramatics of human emotion, but was not permitted the sweet ignorance of time to revel in it properly.

There was the pattering of bare feet on the stone, and Will very suddenly entered the room, with his eyes trained on the corridor from whence he had come. He shut the drawing room doors hastily, and swung around so that his spine was pressed against them, and he was facing Magnus' quizzical stare. He should have guessed that he might see Will during his visit that afternoon, but the sight of him outside of Woosley's sitting room still caught him breathless for a moment. Will had his eyes screwed tight in what looked like a mixture of weariness and pain, but when he opened them and noticed Magnus stretched out on the chaise contentedly the emotion was wiped from his face and replaced with shock.

They met eyes for a long moment, and Magnus thought it ridiculous that it was such an event for the both of them. They had spent a great deal of time together, so much so that Magnus had grown tired of seeing his face. Will had shared things with Magnus that he hadn't shared with anyone else, and Magnus had watched as his entire life had unravelled before him, and left the poor boy crumpled on Woosley's carpet.

Even so, Will stared at Magnus as though he had just proposed marriage, and seemed quite unable to stop staring. Magnus guessed that Will's time with him and the institute were two very separate things in Will's mind, and the sight of them both intermingling must have sent him for a turn. Magnus opened his mouth to say something, though he wasn't sure what; but Will turned on his heels, cast the doors back open, and rushed out again without a single word having been spoken.

Magnus shouldn't have taken offense to such a reaction, but longed for the boy to come back, as he was the only part of this community that Magnus did not dislike. It was only moments later, as Magnus was leaning closer to the dying fire for warmth, that the sound of approach came again, and Magnus thought for a moment that Will _had_ returned. A light figure rounded into the room however, one that Magnus had not seen before, though he knew who it was without needing any introduction.

The boy stood as tall as Will, but not quite as muscled as he was. His hair and eyes had the tell-tale silver sheen to them that Magnus had seen many times before, though on him they had a rather aesthetic effect. He was foreign, much in the same way Magnus was, though he most certainly did not look like he was from the Dutch East Indies. He recalled that he was from the Shanghai institute, and his appearance aligned with that information neatly. He had soft, pale features that were framed by elegant cheekbones. His eyes slanted at their edge into a beautiful peak, one that made the astounding shine of his eyes less startling. Magnus had imagined James many different ways from Charlotte's explanation, but this was not what he had been expecting.

James stopped short when he noticed Magnus, a slight blush colouring his cheeks at the notion of entering so hastily into a room with guests present. He straightened quickly, an entirely pleasant smile stretching across his face.

"Good afternoon Mr Bane, I don't believe we've met, but I'm-"

"James," Magnus cut him off, extending a hand cordially, "I've heard much about you."

James seemed unsettled by the thought, but did not hesitate in shaking Magnus' hand, and he did so without a single shred of distaste or reluctance, as Magnus was accustomed to with shadowhunters.

"Call me Jem," he requested politely, "you have done me many great services over these past few years."

Jem. So Jem knew that Magnus had been the one to first provide him with the _Yin Fen_. He wondered for a moment if Jem resented him for it, and was using the comment as subtle aggression toward him. Jem's expression was sincere however, and Magnus could not see a shred of malice beneath it.

"I hardly had any choice in the matter, given the determination of those who care for you," Magnus replied, dropping his hand quickly and making space between them in the room. Jem's smile turned slightly sad, but he did not falter in his stature.

"Indeed. Speaking of such company, have you seen Will by any chance? I've been looking for him all day." Jem asked, and a small sigh left him at the notion of his _Parabatai_, sounding rather defeated.

"I've not, but if you can't find him, do you think that perhaps he does not want to be found?" Magnus proposed lightly, gathering himself close to the fire in the hope that it had some strength left.

_Truly,_ Magnus thought with ire as he rubbed his palms together, _if their maid keeps _going out_, they'll all freeze to death…_

"Will has been avoiding me for months," Jem admitted tiredly, running his fingers through his hair once, "it seems that he never _does_ want to be found."

"Maybe it is just his bad nature, rather than anything you've done," Magnus offered absently, though he wondered at the amount of information this boy gave freely. Was he testing Magnus, or building up to something larger? No, Magnus knew trickery when he saw it, and Jem's face did not hint of such malice.

In fact, Jem was rather one of the most open people he'd ever observed. As he stepped forward, Magnus admired the fact that, despite the chaos that surrounded his life, Jem himself exuded a calmness that seemed to radiate to those around him. He was quiet, polite and unassuming, and Magnus could hardly believe that so many people's lives revolved around something so gentle.

"No, I'm afraid that I've given Will plenty of reason to avoid me lately," Jem countered darkly, "but I'd rather hoped that we could sort it out."

"Give him time, Will is not altogether unreasonable, despite being a little dramatic," Magnus assured him, granting himself a puzzled look from Jem.

Through with being so cold, Magnus snapped his fingers and watched as the fire once again burst to life in the hearth, and it sent out new warmth to them both. Jem jumped from the shock of the action, and his eyes flew wide with wonder.

"Is that all it takes, the snap of your fingers?" He asked in disbelief.

"Yes, that and practice. It must disgust you," Magnus accused listlessly, bundling himself into the fire's glow and choosing not to look at Jem, though he could feel Jem's eyes on him still.

"Magic saved Will's life once," Jem said very seriously, making Magnus turn in surprise, "I do not scorn such a thing."

Magnus was taken aback by the sincerity of such a declaration, and wondered if Jem would still like Magnus' magic, if he knew that at that moment Magnus made a subtle gesture that locked the kitchen door across the institute. He was curious now, and did not wish to be interrupted by Charlotte any time soon, and so left something to occupy her while he considered the strange boy before him.

After a moment, Jem's face fell, and he cast his gaze down for the first time since he entered the room, "I'm not what you were expecting, am I?"

Magnus took a moment to comprehend what he was being asked, but felt there was no merit in lying, "No."

Jem nodded, his lips tightening into a clean line, having expected such a reply. He glanced up soon after, rather shyly, and when he next spoke there was new hesitance to his voice, "May I ask what you had expected, when you heard of me?"

"Nothing really, but more than five years addicted to _Yin Fen_ does not usually heed such… healthy results." Magnus explained, though he did not include the fact that he had never met any other person who had lived with addiction for that long, because they had already been dead.

"I take the drug only when I must, and have trained myself to go many days without it," Jem enlightened him, though Magnus could tell that they had finally reached a topic of conversation that Jem did not enjoy. Jem spoke to Magnus as a patient might their physician during a long needed check-up, and though Magnus had no intention of allowing such a dynamic to occur, his curiosity made him continue.

"You do know that it doesn't prevent the end result, no matter how scarcely you take it," Magnus told him, and it came across as a much harsher comment then he had intended it to be. Jem did not anger at his words, though his shoulders did seem to drop a little in deflation.

"I have not forgotten, and there is enough to remind me if I do," Jem murmured, averting his gaze to the fire weakly. The flames cast flickering shadows across the panes of his face, and Magnus was irrationally worried that they would shatter him. So he knew, as well as Magnus did, that he could not have much time left. The drug was designed to kill within months, years if the user was careful. To have lived until now, Magnus wondered how long Jem could avoid the final result, but he did not like the boys chances.

It was macabrely fascinating for Magnus, to see a young man so like him teeter on the edge of his death. Death was in part novelty for Magnus, and in part devastating. He was a constant in a world of deteriorating things, yet he could barely comprehend that something as sweet and gentle as this boy could disappear at a moments notice.

"Can you… Feel it?" Magnus asked, unable to believe his own audacity, "Feel it coming, I mean."

Jem's eyes narrowed, and Magnus cursed his own curiosity in every iota of his being, and the hold it had over him.

"No one has ever asked me that before," Jem said, though it was filled more with wonder than anything else, "sometimes I think I can, but I haven't much of an idea of what it's supposed to feel like. There aren't many who can tell me."

Magnus nodded silently, shuffling in his place in order to shift the guilt of his curiosity into a less painful position. Jem hesitated, but he had curiosities of his own.

"Can I ask you how it feels for you, to know that you have all the time in the world?" He flushed a little more, though it did not seem to be from embarrassment. In truth, Magnus did not know how to answer, as he had nothing to compare it to, but didn't want to leave Jem empty when Magnus had been given an answer.

"How do you think it feels?" He proposed, already wary of what he thought. Jem thought about his words for a moment, the strangest sadness crossing his face when he looked at Magnus.

"I try to think of my life as a tunnel, whenever the old fears come back to me," Jem began, his voice unsure and stance awkward, "I imagine that we stumble about in the dark for the majority of it, but see the light eventually that guides us through the best part of our lives,"

He glanced up at Magnus warily, as though afraid that he might offend him, "when I think of immortality, I think that the tunnel is never ending, and that there is only darkness."

"So you think that my life has no meaning?" Magnus assumed, his tone strained at the metaphor, which had effected him so that he felt very suddenly cold again, right down to his core.

"Not at all," Jem added quickly, casting his hands out in apology, "I simply meant that I would feel… awfully lost, if it was me."

Magnus was not comforted by such a concept, and was fast thinking that he had made a mistake, talking with this strange boy. That was all he was, after all, just a dying boy whose life would equate to a moment in Magnus'. So why was it, when Jem looked his way, did Magnus feel like Jem was the wise one and he was the little confused child? Did he make Will feel this way? Was that why Will was so taken with him? Magnus had never felt this way before, but knew very assuredly that he did not like it. He saw so much similarity between the two of them; they came from another world, both outsiders in their communities and cursed with time. Jem had barely any left, and Magnus was damned to have all of it until there was no world left to experience it in.

They were the same and opposites, and Magnus could barely stand it for that fact.

"What about you, you've barely any time left," Magnus accused him, pain making him sharp, "how does any metaphor comfort you?"

Jem smiled, something that Magnus had not expected, and without the smallest amount of resentment. It was not even directed at Magnus, the expression, it seemed to pass straight through his body to some unseen conclusion.

"It isn't much comfort," Jem confessed quietly, "but when there's always light showing at the end of the tunnel, there's hope that it might guide the way, so that less time is spent in stumbling."

"You'll still get there faster," Magnus felt idiotic pointing it out, but couldn't help himself, needing to understand what Jem truly meant.

He nodded calmly, but there was a clearness to his gaze now that had not been there before, "Yes, but perhaps the way there can be better spent, so that no moment is wasted."

They shared a silence, in which Magnus reeled and Jem stared, until the sound of a door closing somewhere in the distance brought them both crashing back to reality, bursting the sphere of tension they had created without realising it. Jem cleared his throat awkwardly, and Magnus straightened his coat where it didn't need straightening. It was Jem who broke the silence.

"You saw Will, didn't you?" He stated, not allowing any room for Magnus to deny it.

Magnus inclined his head as confession, and offered Jem a genuine smile as apology, "Like I said, give him time, all is not lost."

Jem returned the smile, though there was a giddiness to it that made Magnus both uncomfortable and curious. His gaze dropped to his hands, and Magnus could see him fiddling with the ring on his middle finger, which had the etchings of castle turrets along its length.

"You're right," he said, seemingly to no one in particular, "there is still much left to hope for,"

Magnus hadn't the foggiest idea what he was talking about, but more to the point he heard a clatter down the hall and guessed that Charlotte had finally broken out of her makeshift prison. Without delay, Magnus strode to the door, but threw one last address over his shoulder to the strange boy who had kept him company.

"Well this has been fascinating, but I really must go," Magnus hastened, raising a hand to stop Jem before he could speak, "do tell Charlotte that my loyalty is directionally proportionate to the amount of money that I am paid. You may need to do this after she is finished yelling."

He added the last in motion, and caught only a glimpse of Jem's confused face before he took the corner and was in the grand foyer. As he passed the staircase, Magnus spotted a well concealed figure in the shadows about the top of the steps, and he cast it a pointed wink as he exited the building.

Just as he stepped into the cold air of the street, Magnus could have sworn that he'd heard the hidden figure gasp, and it cheered him greatly all the way home. Jem's words had lingered with him however; Magnus knew that, however happy this fleeting moment made him, that later that night such a memory would visit him again in the small hours, and chase away sleep as these things often did.

.

.

.

_For someone who claims not to care about shadowhunter business, Magnus wondered bleakly, as the world flashed by his carriage window, I'll sure remember a great deal about them, long after they're gone…_

**And so on.**

**More coming soon, so stay tuned friends.**

**While you're waiting, go ahead and drop me a review will you? I'd just love to hear from you because it's been a while and I'm getting worried.. Are you eating alright? How's the family? Did you get that sweater you were looking at? Has your cat still got that rash?**

**I want to know.**

**Sorry for any typos, I've run out of typo metaphors, so you think of one this month and send it to me, and I'll use it in my next chapter.**

**Beta'd by the lovely Tash**

**Chloe :)**


	13. De Profundis

***Takes deep breath in**

**I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry**

***Passes out**

**I truly am so sorry that you guys have waited so long; I admit that I am not entirely happy with the way this chapter has turned out, but I refuse to make you wait any longer.**

**Very last instalment guys, it's an emotional affair. Thank you so much again to all that have read, reviewed and invested in this story, especially those who have been here month in month out, waiting for the next instalment and for some reason putting up with my hiatuses.**

**You guys rock. You guys are the reason I write.**

**So here's the jade pendant and first kiss from Jem's point of view. If you feel like dropping some last chapter reviews, do not repress that urge. Just go for it.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any fraction of the shadowhunter universe, its Cassandra Clare whodunit and I hail to her.**

_The face, which, duly as the sun,__  
__Rose up for me with life begun,__  
__To mark all bright hours of the day__  
__With hourly love, is dimmed away?__  
__And yet __my days __go on, go on._

~ _De Profundis_, Elizabeth Barrett Browning~

_Wan sunlight was filtering through the old music room windows, and Jem was determined that this time it would warm him_

.

.

.

_It truly is ridiculous_, he thought to himself bitterly as he gathered himself against the glass pane_, that one should be able to see the sun, but not feel a shred of it on their skin._

That was the reality in this English weather however, as Jem had reluctantly come to realise, but hadn't yet uncovered the secret as to how the others kept themselves comfortable. The notion of finding any warmth that afternoon had been a faint one in itself, for Jem had been perpetually cold from the moment he had stepped from the carriage that had brought him to this place.

Truly, everything about London was cold, Jem had decided. The weather was cruel in its constant rain and bitter winds; the people were cold in their hurry to move along; the language was cold in its cluttered illusions and maddening misdirects; but the culture was the coldest of all. The people of London were hollow in this way, bumping about one another with scarcely any idea of how their lives should contain beauty. There was little honour in this living, where nothing was holy and people treated one another as godless things.

Jem had grown up in a world of grace and poetry, where symbolism spoke volumes and even riddles carried with them a pure sense of honesty. Here there was little honesty, and when there was it came so blatantly that it made Jem feel as though he had been struck in the stomach by it. Such was this life that it left a foul taste in his mouth, which had been accumulating over months to what was now an almost unbearable illness. Charlotte and Henry had exhausted themselves in a determination to make Jem feel safe and happy at the institute, and he had done his level best to feel such security, but no such feeling had arisen.

There was only one person, the smallest and most horrifyingly hollow of all that he had met, that had succeeded in bringing comfort to the alienation Jem had been lost in.

Jem smiled at the thought of him, his loyal little shadow, and wondered how he had ever lived before him. Jem had spent such a great deal of his time at the institute under duress in the beginning; his memories were blurred by the horror of the things that the Silent Brothers had uncovered in the shadowy small hours of the afternoon. It had been as though they had severed the protective barrier between Jem and the secrets hidden within his mind, and then left him to drown amongst them by himself. He had preferred it that way to begin with, for he would not have ever wished the terror of his past upon any one else at the institute. His memories had been ghosts, lingering in the corners of his consciousness and following him everywhere he went; so that he was unable to find peace, no matter the walls that contained him. Another shadow had joined them however, smaller and quieter than the others, but all this one had done was watch.

At first Jem had feared him, the boy who followed his step, but after so many nights alone Jem had simply been glad of the company. There was a reassurance in that shadow, when all the others only hurt him and left. There was nothing to comfort him in those silent afternoons, when the hooded creatures had finished and left him to suffer the memories they had discovered. Jem had been orphaned in more ways than one, and as such his only choice was to let the hiding boy reassure him, where nothing else had.

He'd taken comfort in the knowledge that he was always nearby, even when Jem could not see him, though no matter how he tried, the boy would not approach him directly. It was frustrating, unbelievably so, that even though he and Jem had spent such a great deal of time together, that he still managed to resign himself to yet another person that Jem could not confide in. All Jem wanted was to hear him speak, to lay his hands upon him and feel the resistance of his body respond to it. It had been so long since he had felt the touch of another person, and he very nearly believed that if he ever did get close enough, the boy would simply vanish in a twist of old smoke.

Will had been like a wild animal, curious but wary, as though Jem's sudden movement could send him ether spinning from the room or lunging at Jem's throat. He allowed himself to be a constant comfort to Jem, but never a companion; and soon Jem began to believe that such a thing would never change.

That was, until Will had heard him play.

The violin was one of the only reminders of Jem's former life that he could bear, for it was one of the few things in the world that could turn Jem's pain into something beautiful and free. When he had brought it out of its chest for the first time, Jem had already become accustomed to a state of order, whereby he knew Will was always near, but scarcely felt his presence at all. As such, it had been a great surprise to him that a gasp had accompanied his first notes of playing. His bow faltering, Jem had glanced up and seen a dark shape twist amongst the shade of the library bookshelves. For once it had seemed nervous, unsettled in its position, and Jem was so intrigued that he very nearly stopped playing. With a great deal of effort, he had managed to continue the set he had started. As he did however, he kept sight of the boy just enough so that he could see how his every note affected him. Each noise he made seemed to effect the shadow behind the books, to the point that Jem felt very much like an artisan and his puppeteer.

Will had felt Jem's music from across the room, and had been physically _moved_ by it. Nothing Jem had done had ever elicited such a reaction, and he could barely comprehend how he managed to keep playing through his sense of wonder. He would drag the bow down and Will would shudder; he would climb through the bridge and Will shoulders would tense. It was incredible, as though Will and the instrument were tied to one another, so that when one rose and fell so did the other. Had Will never heard music before? Jem hadn't been in London long, but he had heard many new instruments and even learnt new songs, so why was Will so entranced?

Jem scarcely knew, but he had felt every nerve in his body thrill with the knowledge that he had finally made a connection with the boy in the shadows. Whether or not Will realised it, Jem began to use the violin as a bridging tool between them, so he could communicate his feelings and Will would hear them. It was how he first learnt to play without sheet music, so that he could find a way to express to _someone_ the extent of his daily sorrows. Every day Jem played, put to song what he couldn't to words, and every day Will heard it. Though he had never said a word, Jem could sense, in the very nature of his reactions, that Will understood.

It had seemed euphoric, really, and Jem had allowed it to become something almost holy to him, so that the silence between them only made the music more meaningful. Jem had extended what little he had to Will in those small afternoons, and he had never expected Will to extend himself back. When he'd spoken out in the training room for the first time, Jem's heart had very nearly leapt from his throat. He hadn't imagined what Will would sound like, and had very nearly convinced himself that he had no voice at all.

Up close Will had been beautiful and wild, and it had taken Jem a great deal of time to convince himself that he was real. Even when Will began coming to his room in the night, Jem could scarcely believe that something as surreal as Will could be caring for him… Caring about him.

Jem had been so used to being pushed aside, as that was the only thing people seemed to do with him. The Silent Brothers had pushed him aside when they could not cure him, and Charlotte had pushed him aside when she could no longer handle the pain his illness caused her. He did not blame them; the Silent Brothers were merely performing a service for him, but he couldn't help the overwhelming terror and dread that he felt whenever he thought now of their mangled faces. He had blamed Charlotte even less, for he knew that the futility of his health was waning on her spirit; and she was such a loving woman, Jem guessed that his suffering was a great burden to her. It was always easier to avoid ones burdens, Jem had observed, and he often preferred to ignore his illness himself. He could understand why the others had chosen to push him aside where it was possible; he rather thought he would push himself aside along with them if he could.

But Will had not pushed him aside.

Every night he would come, and Jem would reel and wonder at his presence, convincing himself that each time would be the last. Yet time and time again Will came, and soon Jem found himself begging him not to leave, afraid of the dark when Will was not guarding him against it. Soon Jem could not sleep without feeling Will's presence, and for some strange reason the notion had not concerned as much as he thought it would. If anything, all it did was made Jem hungry, and he yearned for Will's company more potently than he knew it was proper to mention.

Will made him forget, and when he was in pain Will eased it. In reflection, Jem guessed that he was reliant on Will long before they both knew it, but the feeling had taken such a strange form that Jem had not recognised it at the time. It was not like other feelings, the ones Jem had for Will. He found he wanted more than Will's mere company, wanted him closer so that he could feel Will's heat and strength… but for what? Jem had scarcely a clue as to what he'd wanted when he'd invited Will into his bed the first night, had only known the loneliness of it on his own, and rued the way that Will watched over him like a patient, and not a friend.

After all though, Jem wasn't sure he _could_ have called Will a friend if he'd tried. He'd never imagined sharing a bed with another man, nor had he ever premeditated that he would be the one to offer, nor how close he would burrow to Will when he finally accepted the invitation. To have someone so close to him had been dizzying; he was always so cold that he'd imagined nothing could make him warm again. Will had been hot however, his body radiating more heat than Jem could have ever imagined coming from another human being, and it was that warmth that had drawn him into Will like a moth to flame. Before he could have comprehended such an action, he'd taken Will's hand and buried his own within it, feeling the visceral need to test Will's existence. For a moment Will's fingers had been still, but then had shyly returned the pressure and made Jem's heart feel as though it were melting within his chest. It had felt like those fingers were lending their warmth to him through to his very veins, so that he was filled to his every edge with Will's fire.

It had been the first times that Jem felt anything sustain him, and he had been _warm._

The temperature of the music room seemed icy compared with the heat of such a memory, and Jem moved further in the recesses of his large coat. It had been an old one of Henry's, this jacket, and for once Jem was glad of its size. He had the Guarneri in his hands, but had been so caught up in his own thoughts that he was yet to play it. What was there to play when Will was not listening? Jem had never heard Will when he'd entered in secret, but he'd felt it like a change in the air. A sudden movement would catch his eye, and there he'd be, silent but attentive, waiting for Jem to start. Jem couldn't see him today, and hoped that he and Will were on close enough terms that Will would simply listen if he wanted to. It was true that they did not speak extensively during the daytime, but Jem had hoped by now that the business of hiding might be behind them.

Unable to shake thoughts of Will from his head, Jem rested the base of the violin against his throat and began to play. He took his feelings for Will and strung them into notes that ducked and tumbled about one another in frantic chase. The emotions he felt were sharp and fast, so that was how he played them, his bow darting across the strings in a blur and his eyes closing as he sank into the rhythm. It was always easy, this transition from reality to feeling, and he buried himself in the colours his music was creating behind the screen of his eyelids, so that he barely heard it when something was placed on the table beside him.

Jem dropped his arm and opened his eyes slowly, with the sudden knowledge that he was breathless. Something small gleamed on the table beside him, though its courier was nowhere to be seen. Only Will could have been so silent, and the moment he saw it Jem knew with clarity that only Will could have been the one to find it.

The stone was a sort of clouded jade, one that Jem had seen many times before when he was young. His mother had worn a necklace like it that had been adorned with jade pendants hung about a chain like glinting constellations, and she had worn it to celebrate the beauty of spring during the lunar new year festivals. As he observed the stone he could have sworn that he smelt the pear blossoms and yulan magnolia flower petals that his father had taken from the institutes gardens and scattered about the hallways in great silver bowls.

The memory made his stomach drop in the best of ways, and as the feelings returned they brought a smile with them, one that stung Jem's cheeks and made his lips tingle. It had been so long since his memories had brought him joy instead of fear, and he wondered at the change something so fickle could cause in him.

The stone before him was so intricate and graceful, the light seemed to catch and linger inside it, as though it could guide his way like witchlight. He had told Will many things about his old life, but he had never expected him to pay this much attention. The stone curled into a fist, tight and neat, and it rested against Jem's palm with a cool smoothness that seemed altogether perfect.

Jem placed his violin down hastily and rushed out of the music room doors, though he knew before he moved that Will would not be waiting around the corner. Jem wanted to see him, wanted to find a way to pour out his gratitude in such a manner that would make Will understand it's magnitude. It was not so much the stone that he admired, but the fact that Will had listened and understood how much he needed it. The stone was a reminder of home, one that bought Jem joy instead of the pain he was so used to. Jem had known that there was a barrier between he and Will from the very beginning, known that there was something hidden in the back of Will's mind that he would never share with Jem. It made him distant, and cautious of everything he did, but Jem had always hoped that he might find his way around it.

This little thing, cold and still in his hand, proved it.

.

.

Jem looked but could not find Will anywhere that afternoon, and guessed that Will did not want to be found. Jem was not disheartened by it, but rued every minute that separated day from night that afternoon, for he guessed that he would have to wait that long for Will to reveal himself.

He remained busy by employing Henry to mount the pendant on a small chain for him. Henry was curious about the pendant, as he was curious about most things, but seemed to guess that Jem did not want to be questioned and so did not question him. The chain was thin and light, and when it was finished the stone rested in the hollow of his collarbones neatly. It pressed against his pulse there, and when all was quiet Jem swore he could almost feel it moving with the rhythm of his heart.

Will was not at dinner that evening, so Jem snuck into the larder later that night when no one was watching him and stole a pocketful of the morning's scones for Will to have later. Before he climbed into bed, Jem deposited the food on the bedside table, and lay himself down in the intention to wait. It was usually his nightmares that brought Will to his bed during the early hours, but he had a feeling that, if he remained quiet, Will would come all the same. Time passed, yet Will did not return, and after what felt like a great many hours Jem's eyes became too heavy to keep open.

Would he come? For a moment Jem felt the coldest fear creep up his spine at the thought of spending the night on his own. Will was still so wary of himself, what if his own actions had scared him enough to make him stay away again? The thought of losing Will's companionship made Jem want to fly from the bed and go in mad search of him, but knew that it would only drive him further away. With Will all actions were delicate, and Jem knew that if Will was not coming on his own, there was nothing Jem could do to change his mind.

He wound his fingers around the pendant and squeezed it weakly. Its resistance calmed him, and with each burst of pressure he reassured himself that Will was coming, though with every second passed such hope deteriorated.

He nestled his face further into the pillow he and Will shared, just as the door to his room creaked open and he heard feet padding against the wooden floor. Will passed the scones without seeming to notice them, and moments later, the mattress shifted, and he was close enough that Jem could smell the night air on him. He tried to keep his breathing as even as possible to hide his relief, but he could not slow his raging heart, and guessed that Will could hear it.

All at once, Will froze, and when Jem opened his eyes he saw that Will was staring at the jade where it rested inside Jem's palm. He seemed surprised, very nearly bewildered that Jem should have strung the thing on a chain and worn it. Jem could barely smile, for next Will's eyes were on him, and their intensity took his breath away.

When he did not speak, Jem spoke for him. His question came from him, soft and gentle, and he sounded for once like the child he was, "Did you find this for me Will?"

At first, Will did not answer, and Jem waited for what seemed like an age, as the emotion began to rise in him again, and he felt his face burning. It was too dark to know for sure, but he thought he almost saw Will blush, and he began to speak a great deal of nonsense very fast. He mentioned something about jade being from China and Jem remembering his home, but Jem wasn't even listening. Will was there, his voice soft and body so close. Jem knew that he shouldn't, knew that there were unspoken lines that Will did not want him to cross, but when he saw the blood rush to Will's face he could no longer stand it.

Jem reached out with a need that he'd never experienced before, and wrenched Will in so that there was no space between them. Without needing to consider it, his arms wound around the places on Will that Jem had always wanted to hold, and their bodies aligned with a winded thump. Jem knew that he was holding Will too tightly, knew it mustn't be comfortable, but for the moment did not care and took the liberty of pressing his face into Will's shoulder.

Will jumped at that, and for a good while remained very still. Jem wondered how long it had been since Will had felt another person this close, and guessed that it was as foreign to Will as it was to him. He could feel Will's heart hammering in his throat, and wondered if he was going to pull away. After all, Jem had broken the taboo of touch between them, after all the resolutions Jem had made to respect Will's space. He couldn't find the motivation to chastise himself however; Will was so close, and his smell and heat filled every faculty of Jem's thoughts.

Will made a sound, deep and involuntary from his chest, and in the next moment Will was pulling him in, further then Jem thought was possible. Will's arms were strong and they squeezed him until he could see stars on the edge of his vision. Jem screwed his eyes tighter and leant into the embrace, feeling as though he might melt into a puddled mess against the power of Will's warmth. He wondered whether Will knew how badly he was trembling, but said nothing as they held one another so tightly that it seemed like they might never let go. Will burrowed his face into the juncture between Jem's neck and shoulder, and when he felt Will's lips brush him there he realised for the first time that emotions could make one sure they would explode. He couldn't remember ever feeling this good, not in all his years, and wondered how he had ever thought life worth living without this feeling.

"Thank you," he whispered into Will's shoulder quietly, the emotion in his voice making the statement thick. Will held him tighter in response, but did not say a word. Jem preferred it that way, because for the moment he didn't want to explain just how much he was thankful for, but knew for the first time without a shred of doubt that Will was thankful too.

.

.

.

"Jessamine did not deserve what you did to her today," Jem observed plainly, cursing himself for getting involved after he'd promised himself he wouldn't. Jem had not spoken to Will all day, and though Will pretended that it did not bother him, Jem saw the line of Will's shoulders straighten at the sound of his voice.

"Jessamine deserves more than she gets," Will returned without pause, taking a sharp corner and neglecting to wait for Jem to catch up. Jem picked up speed and stopped short just behind him, only just catching the rest of his statement, "if she insists on hating shadowhunter men, I shall help her along by giving her good reason."

It didn't matter what he'd said, Jem knew why he had tricked Jessamine, regardless of his excuses.

On a daily basis Jessamine treated Jem with the regard one might give to their shoe brusher. She tolerated his company, but had never once considered him to be on any social level close to her own. When Charlotte and Henry looked at Jem, they saw a shadowhunter, something inclusive yet uncaring of his native culture. Lord knew what Will saw when he looked at Jem, but he knew that race had never been a dividing barrier between them. All Jessamine saw however, was his Chinese heritage. Such a thing was no insult to Jem, but it most certainly was to her. His addiction to the _yin fen_ only strengthened this gap in Jessamine's mind, and as such they had never formed any bond close to friendship.

Jessamine saw him as a leech, and a great deal of baggage to the institute, which Jem felt was a strange opinion to have when she was so passionately opposed to the world of shadowhunting as a rule, so when she had called Jem an invalid, he was hardly surprised. He had not heard her say it, but from past experience knew that Will acted in childish ways when Jem's honour was threatened, and guessed, after Jessamine came howling into the dining room with a face whiter than chalk, that she'd said something quite offensive. He had been too put out with Will to discuss it, but had approached Charlotte promptly after she'd finished consoling Jessamine, whose wails from behind the door had indicated to Jem that she was not yet consoled.

Charlotte was almost as protective as Will was over Jem, but nowhere near as proud, so when Jem had asked her to tell him the truth, she had relented. Afterwards, he had apologised for Will's actions to Jessamine directly. She had never liked Will, and therefore did not know him well enough to understand how his actions were inadvertently Jem's fault, but nonetheless took the apology for all it was worth. That was something Jem liked about Jessamine, that no matter who was giving the attention, Jessamine was always glad to take it.

He was not angry with her for calling him such names, nor was he ever angry with people for judging him unflatteringly. Though the members of the institute worked in earnest to hide it from him, Jem knew that there were a healthy group of clave members that condemned him for his addiction, the most vocal of these being Benedict Lightwood. Though Will smoked at the nose when they were mentioned, Jem never encouraged any animosity toward his accusers.

_They are people, just like you,_ Jem would tell Will again and again, _and if you have the right to defend me, then they have the right to their judgements._

It had never failed to make Will angry, and though Jem knew he was unreasonable most of the time, he hated to be the one to make him so. As such, Jem chose to feign ignorance a great deal of the time, though on occasions like these he foolishly allowed his opinion to slip.

Jem could feel the stubbornness rolling of Will's shoulders like a fever, and it made him sigh with exasperation and bafflement. They had not been _Parabatai _for very long, but in that time Jem's active knowledge of Will and his emotions had increased thrice over, so that they were in a constant awareness of one another. It was a strange and exciting thing, having someone who belonged so fully to Jem, and for their union Will's protectiveness of him had reached a point that was overtly ridiculous.

He had been too stunned to speak when Will had asked him to be his _Parabatai, _and more concerned with the realisation that Will had heard every word that Benedict had said about him to Charlotte in the training room. As much as he did not like being described in terms of spoiled meat, he liked even less the automatic response of sympathy that came from others. There were things he could to do overpower criticism, he could train harder, fight better and become the shadowhunter no one expected him to be; But sympathy? What was he to do with that? Sympathy undermined him more than Benedict's words ever could. Benedict's insults were filled with doubt, which meant there was room to prove his assumptions wrong, but in sympathy there was only grim acceptance, and that was the most frightening of all.

There had been no sympathy in Will's eyes when he'd asked Jem to be his _Parabatai_, and for that reason Jem knew he had allowed Will to beat him in their swordfight, and win their bet. From that point onwards, Will had protected Jem with a devotion that he could barely comprehend, as Will had not shown a shred of that emotion to anyone else at the institute. Will had a secret, Jem had always known, and he used it as a barrier against all others, in the hope that they would never try to penetrate it. He had taken Jem as an exception to this, and though Jem had always wanted it he was left with the burning question of why.

He'd repressed the need to know time and time again, reasoning that the answer might be worse than the ignorance of not knowing. It had been many months of denying his feelings for Will, but he knew that he could not avoid his own heart forever. Will was maddening, allusive and callous, and yet with Jem he was most gentle. Jem didn't know what it meant, only knew how it felt and was sure that he'd go mad if he didn't receive some answers soon.

They had been travelling through the stinking alleyways of Upper Thames, and though Jem had no idea where they were, he guessed by the awful smell that they were near the docks. Sure enough, the space cleared and suddenly they were stalking across old wood as the pier shivered with steep wind. Jem was twitching with the need to confront Will, and Will seemed to sense it as he flicked his head around to frown at him. Jem grabbed him by the back of his coat and dragged him out of sight, into yet another alleyway that Jem strongly suspected ran alongside a guttery.

Will wrinkled his nose in response to the smell, but was distracted quickly as Jem came closer to him, cornering him up against the wall to prevent him from leaving.

"And you?" Jem challenged him suddenly, making Will's face fall in confusion. Even when he didn't mean for them to be, Will's expressions were exquisite, and though it would only make his mission harder, Jem couldn't help but falter in admiration of his beauty, "You hate everyone, what reason do you have?"

Will seemed very abruptly uncomfortable with the turn of conversation, and drew his gaze away so that he did not have to look at Jem. He appeared as though he might say something for the briefest time, but there was a war ensuing behind his drawn mouth and Jem knew without doubt that he would not admit anything.

"I don't hate everyone," he muttered glumly, his eyes on his shoes. The idea struck him silent, as he was the only person he could think of that Will did not seem to hate. It made his stomach warm and nervous at the same time, so he swallowed hard and took a step forward, so as to press Will further.

"Then why treat people the way you do? I see how you stare after people when you know they can't see you. You care for them more than you'll ever let them know, and soon they won't allow you the chance to show them." Jem lamented a little sadly, making Will visibly anger. He had not expected such a reaction, and fought the urge to take a step back.

"I don't need anyone else," Will sent back quickly, and Jem felt as though his heart had dropped into his stomach. His eyes widened involuntarily and he fought an encroaching flush at the boldness of Will's statement. The answer was even more unexpected than his last, and Will seemed to know it. He closed his mouth quickly, and was quite unable to restrain the blush that coloured _his_ cheeks.

"Anyone apart from who… me?" Jem asked very quietly, the words escaping him before he could restrain them. At this point Will was too uncomfortable to form an answer, and frankly Jem was not sure if he was ready for it. Instead, he took the opportunity to ask the question that had been lingering in his mind for the longest time, "Why did you ask me to be your _Parabatai?_"

This roused Will from his embarrassed stupor, and he looked up at Jem with what seemed like a fresh kindling of defensiveness. Jem fought the urge to tense at this reaction, no matter how it riled him. Though Will's defensive nature played on Jem's nerves, their relationship revolved around Will being the one to anger and Jem being the one to ground him; and he felt that two angered shadowhunters would pay no favours to this particular conversation.

"Because I wanted to."

"But you are forever finding new ways to make others dislike you, it's as though you are afraid of affection," For the first time, he was the one who could not maintain Will's gaze, "yet with me you are ever gentle, always kind and considerate."

When he returned his attention to Will, he knew all the doubts and worries that he felt were painted across his face, because he could have sworn he saw Will's bottom lip tremble, "I'm afraid I don't understand."

Will's composure seemed to return somewhat, though he felt that there was something unstable hiding underneath it all, he could feel it like a current through the ground.

"What is there to misunderstand?" He asked, his eyes careful.

Though he had promised himself that he would remain impartial, should they ever have this conversation, Jem found himself unable to censor his own behaviour when he asked, "Why me? Of all the kindness you have, why do you give it all to me?"

"You're different from the others," Will answered, and Jem could see that he was becoming irritated.

Jem had expected such an answer, but there was something badly hidden behind Will's eyes that made Jem wonder. Was it guilt? Jem's entire body felt as though it was wilting at the idea that crossed his mind, "Because of my illness?"

There was a moment of silence, then Will's voice broke it like the crack of a whip, "No, because of _you,_"

Jem jumped back a little in shock, and when he said nothing, Will continued, "You, yourself. I've never met another human so good and pure as you Jem, I did not think that they existed anymore. I am living proof that goodness is rare, and you are what reminds me that it can still be found. I need you for that."  
He broke off and retreated from his words, as though they had surprised him as much as they had surprised Jem.

Jem's heart shuddered to brief stop, and as such he was very still after Will had given his impassioned speech. He chest was suddenly very tight, and he was not sure exactly what it was that he was feeling. Will seemed to be in a similar state, though there was more fear of Jem's reaction there than anything else.  
How should Jem react? No one had ever spoken to him like this, and he needed more time to process it. He couldn't deny that he had always wanted Will to feel this way, but what was he supposed to do now that he'd said it out loud?

All he knew for certain was that Will needed him. Will, who had taken him as companion when all others had left him, and guarded him with a loyalty akin to family. Will needed him, but what did Will want?

Will was staring at him in a state of terror, his eyes wide and his mouth hung open a little in waiting. His lips were red and sore from the harsh winds, and Jem wondered suddenly why he was looking so intently at them. When he glanced up, he saw that Will was staring at his as well, a new emotion settling there amongst the fear.

Want.

Will needed Jem; but Will _wanted_ him as well.

And with sudden clarity, that was who he was.

James Carstairs. Leech. Invalid. Addict. Spoiled Meat. Sycophant. Liability. Baggage.

Needed.

_Wanted_.

"I need you too," he smiled, and made his way across the small distance that separated them. Will seemed at first as though he did not want Jem to come any closer, but when his gaze flickered back to Jem's lips, the want returned, and it gave Jem the reassurance not to pull away. There was a moment, just before Jem's lips found Wills, of such potent anticipation that Jem thought his heart might fail; but then they were kissing, and Jem could feel how warm and soft Will's lips were and he was sure that his every nerve had burnt to oblivion.

He kissed Will gently but with enough strength to demand a response. The sound Will had made when Jem first touched him had barely seemed human, so he let his lips linger and closed his eyes against the deluge of sensation that had overcome him. Will's lips moved under Jem's, as though they wanted to stay but Will didn't, and for the most disheartening moment Jem thought that he would have to pull away. Jem had never kissed anyone before, and didn't know how long it was customary to wait before accepting ones rejection.

He felt a hot breath leave Will lips, and misinterpreting it as irritation, Jem shifted his footing in order to step back. As he did, Will took a fast hold of Jem's hips and yanked him forward, so that their bodies collided in the most painful of ways. Will's mouth wasn't as soft suddenly, and Jem realised with absolute bewilderment that Will was kissing him back. Hot lips slid across his, and the senses it awakened made Jem gasp with shock. As he did so, Will slipped his tongue into Jem's mouth, and Jem was suddenly most glad of the support Will's hands were lending him, for he thought his legs had turned to water.

But Will was holding him to attention, and not losing a moment of their embrace in bewilderment, and so Jem took heed of this wisdom and promptly buried his fingers in Will's tangled hair, pulling until he heard Will moan. He couldn't believe how much pleasure that little sound could grant him, and had never even imagined that he'd get the chance to test it. He had never taken the time to imagine what kissing should feel like, having resigned himself to the idea that he would never live long enough or be cruel enough to take such a liberty from someone. Yet here he was, tangled up with his _Parabatai_ behind a fish guttery, without a single regret to speak for.

He knew it was wrong, had always known that Will was the worst possible choice for his devotions. Will was a man, and more to the point what they were doing was illegal by Clave law. Shadowhunter laws had always meant so much to Jem, so why did they seem to insignificant now that he knew Will wanted him as well? He had never guessed that love could be so powerful, or that it could make him act this way.

But love had taken its course, and love had delivered.

Because he loved Will, and now he had his chance to show it.

Jem took hold of Will's face and kissed him with all that he had to give, knowing that he had no experience but hoping it was enough. Will smelt of smoke and tasted of something sweet, Jem let it fill him up until he felt there was not a part of him that was not attuned to Will's body, to his movements. He said Wills name, though he wasn't sure why, but it heeded such a pleasing reaction from Will that he did it again, willing to do anything to make Will moan that way.

He didn't get any further opportunity however, as something slick and cold wrapped around Jem's ankle, stark against all the heat he was feeling. Before he could investigate, the coldness was pulling him harder than Will could hold him, and he slammed into the ground faster than he could blink.

.

.

.

_The last thing he saw before he was dragged around the corner was Will's face, staring after him with his hands still outstretched._

_._

_To know contentment is to have wealth.  
To act resolutely is to have purpose.  
To stay one's ground is to be enduring.  
To die and yet not be forgotten is to be long-lived._  
~Laozi (Lao Tzu) - Dao De Jing~

**The last passage is what I imagine to encapsulate Jem's perspective, I've had it since I started this story and I've kept it until the end so as to wrap things up.**

**Please review if you are so inclined, I love to hear what you think and also I may or may not use them as proof of my personal success when people ask me what I am doing with my life.**

**Sorry for typos, we live in a grammatically inclusive world and it would just be ignorant of me not to give them their fair chance to shine (but I really hope they don't because that would suck)**

**Beta'd by the lovely Tash**

**Chloe :)**


	14. The List

**At last, my friends, it is here.**

**The list.**

**This is a sample of Will and Jem's time in the attic that I hope you'll like; there are naughty references but for sake of this story's rating these will all be implied (or interpreted, if you're looking hard enough)**

**Without further adieu, here it is:**

_A coveted list of all the things (scandalous or otherwise) that William Owain Herondale and James Carstairs practiced in the attic of the London Institute, the existence of which they would be horrified to discover (Mr. Carstairs a great deal more so than Mr. Herondale)_

_._

_._

_._

1. Will assessed exactly how secluded the attic could be, whilst simultaneously testing the durability of Nephillim armour under high speed conditions. Jem later commented that the dent in the Eastern wall looked oddly like the battered shield propped against the arched window, which Will attributed to Jem's healthy imagination.

2. Will and Jem began sneaking up to the dank room to gain privacy, most frequently during the times that they were needed elsewhere.

3. They kissed, on more occasions than it would be logical to count.

4. Jem noted that, in the cast of evening light, Will's eyes looked almost as grey as his.

5. Will attempted to play Mendelssohn's violin concerto in E minor, and Jem learnt to never allow Will to touch his violin again.

6. Jem began to bring his class work up with him in their hours together, rationalising that he had no other time left to finish it. Will responded to this by frequently spilling various beverages on said work, complaining of recurring wrist spasms. Jem proceeded to overpower Will whilst he wasn't paying attention, and tied his wrists together in what he explained to a "beneficial stretch." Jem then returned promptly to his work.

7. Having had his hands confiscated from him, Will discovered that his lips alone were enough to distract Jem from whatever he was doing. He also coincidently stumbled upon the knowledge that Jem's neck was particularly sensitive to the touch.

8. They both fell asleep to the rhythm of a great storm, wrapped amongst one another on a bed of old boxes.

9. Jem admitted to Will one quiet night that he could no longer recall what his father's face looked like in great detail, the fear in his voice making Will's blood run cold.

10. They made love. It was certainly not the first time they had done so, but it _was_ the first time that Jem truly enjoyed it.

11. Will and Jem once accidently exchanged clothes in their hurry to get dressed, and had to employ fast creativity when forced to explain why Will was in need of Jem's left shoe and blue waistcoat to Charlotte mere minutes later.

12. Discarded seraph blades were used for practice on long days, and Jem still has not recovered from the guilt of slashing a hole in the ceiling, which has leaked ever since.

13. Jem learnt that, in certain things, giving was more rewarding than receiving.

14. Will first told Jem he loved him, and to this day remains convinced that Jem was asleep at the time.

15. Will managed to read the entirety of Emily Bronte's "Wuthering Heights" in one day, and proceeded to molest Jem in his sleep later that night, seemingly under the conviction that Jem was Catherine Earnshaw, and he was Heathcliffe in a foul temper.

16. Will and Jem discovered that a certain floorboard by the window squeaked when weight was placed upon it, and at the most inopportune of times.

17. Coincidently, at that same time Will discovered that honey had a great many functions other than for cooking, leaving Jem all the stickier for it.

18. Jem found Will, after noting his considerable absence, crying quietly amongst the shadows gathered at the window. Upon questioning, Will's only comment was, "I miss them,"

19. Jem spent almost a week whittling away at his new bow, while Will hovered and pestered until Jem taught him what each character meant. Will has since then wished Jem had never told him.

20. Will taught Jem Welsh folk songs, which meant that Jem unknowingly sang about ale and good women for at least half an hour, until Will's muffled laughter gave him away.

21. They made plans to travel to China in the spring, so that Jem could show Will the Shanghai institute when the gardens were in vibrant bloom. During one of his worst attacks later that year, Jem told Will that he would have to see it on his own. Will has since vowed never to go there unless in Jem's company. Years later, they still have not been.

22. Though he hated to be complimented on it, Will loved to watch the way afternoon light set the silver of Jem's hair shining as he moved. Even more entrancing was the way Jem's eyes not only captured the light, but seemed to absorb it so that they glinted like pools of molten starlight.

23. Jem spent long afternoons asleep with his head in Will's lap, as Will kept one eye on what he was reading, and the other on the rise and fall of Jem's breath.

24. Jem learnt the mappings of Will's body so intimately that often, when they were together, Jem would close his eyes and let a newfound instinct guide his hands on where they should go.

25. Jem found a tortured piece of sheet music behind the box that held old ropes from the training room. On its underside there was a poem written in Will's scrawled hand, with all but the first line torn away. Jem could not find the other piece, and whenever he asked Will about it he was told that it had been written drunk and thus had been thrown into the fire the following morning. Will still remembers the entire poem, having written it very sober but no less incapacitated, though he greatly regrets ever allowing to grace paper:

_The Angel and the Damned, hands enlaced,_

_Fled from Heaven, and refused their grace._

_Clean of Adam's blood, together they fell,_

_And the Damned pulled the Angel straight into Hell._

**.**

**.**

**That's it everyone, this story has finally come to it's end.**

**Thank you for coming this far with me, I hope to hear from you in the future should I write something that you like.**

**Review if you'd like to, I appreciate all that I receive.**

**Sorry for typos, but they want to say goodbye too.**

**Beta'd by the lovely Tash**

**Ciao you lovely people, **

**Chloe :)**


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